Under A Raven's Wings
by nvzblgrrl
Summary: The year is 1987 and a six-year old Harry Potter has been... encouraged... to accompany a mysterious man whose face and history are a complete mystery to both the muggle and magical worlds. Who exactly is Healer Raven and why is he doing all of this for Harry? Read and Review, please, constructive criticism and comments are welcome.
1. Healer Raven

1987

* * *

Raven was not a man that would normally be welcome on such a street as Privet Drive, by dint of being a wizard and an odd one even by those standards, but some of the residents who kept pets had seen what seeming miracles the man had preformed on Mrs. Figgs various cats and Doctor Raven had not turned down the upswing in business. He tended to both man and beast, though his office was often favored by slightly more unsavory clientele in Knockturn Alley rather than upstanding citizens. Alastor Moody had once paid the place a visit, but it was only for the sake of the suspected Death Eater that had been dragged in behind him and the Auror had insisted that Raven do enough to keep the scum alive long enough to interrogate and send to Azkaban rather than do enough to allow the man a prayer of escape.

The man was never seen without a plague doctor's mask, though Dr. Raven, or Healer Raven, as he was known in wizarding circles, at least had the common sense to glamour the piece into a pair of large sunglasses matched with a surgical mask when dealing with his non-magical customers. The long cloak with its raven-feathered collar and black robes were similarly transformed into a black turtleneck and pale grey blazer that kept something of a feathery look about the lapels. He kept the wide brimmed black hat that had been jauntily adorned with glossy, black raven feathers as it was, as it wasn't quite worth the effort to transfigure it into something so offensively mundane as a baseball cap. The same went for his leather gloves, as those were commonplace enough for a veterinary.

There were many theories about Raven and his all-concealing ensemble, which might have been acceptable for an Unspeakable but was rather unnerving in a medical practitioner. One of the most popular was that the man had been treated to the typical Death Eater hospitality (perhaps even had been one of them himself, some suspicious souls whispered to each other over their fire whiskey) and, upon escape, decided to take up the medical profession with its significantly lesser risks. Others, some less and some more exotic, were much less dated answers, ranging from a tangle with a feral werewolf to an unfortunate accident involving kneazles. A Lovegood, no one was quite sure which one because no one wanted to make eye contact, had speculated on the man being a time traveler, intent on changing the past without causing a time paradox and upsetting the Temporal Cannabid Spiders. Two things were agreed on, though; the fact that Healer Raven was good at his job and the fact that he never asked too many questions, which made him perfect for Knockturn Alley.

The Dursleys, naturally, being the most mundane, spiteful examples of sentient creatures on the face of the Earth, had no use for the good doctor other than to serve as a target for a steady stream of derision. "That _freaky_ veterinary is probably casing our house out as we speak." Petunia Dursley had spat into the curtain that she had lifted just far enough to the side to see out of. "Why else would he hide his face like that? Probably a known criminal…"

Vernon Dursley turned the page of his very normal newspaper, fumbling with the corner a moment before finally catching it in his sausage-like fingers. "Could be one of _those_ ones… Like that Mercury fellow…" Petunia almost gave herself whiplash turning to face her lump of a husband, who was in the process of bringing an actual sausage to his mouth, making for a mildly confusing image.

"You think he's one of those…" She searched for a term that was both normal-ish to say and easy to spit out viciously. "…Shirt lifters?" Vernon snorted.

"Wearing a hat like that in public? It's probably some secret call sign for those types." His gaze shifted suspiciously to Harry, who was washing the dishes vigorously, all of his six year old self working hectically to remove every trace of that morning's cooking (his handiwork again). "And you know all about that _plague_ of theirs. Someone probably had the sense to tell him to contain it."

Dudley would have made a comment around this point in the conversation, but he had somehow managed to talk Petunia into allowing him to sleep over at Peirs Polkiss's house. Harry was thankful for this small favor, as he really didn't have an interest in finding out any particulars about the unspoken taboos concerning shirts. The subject would all too easily twisted back to his sub-par laundry skills.

"I hear they take children and use them to make even more of their filthy kind…" Vernon's face twisted into a sneering grimace. Harry wasn't certain if his uncle had just stumbled upon a nastily unpleasant idea or if he just had gas.

"Harry." Vernon said as sweetly as he could manage, looking overly much like a grossly overweight cat that had just caught a small, defenseless mouse. "Why don't you go over and give that veterinary… Dr. Craven, wasn't it? Why don't you go assist him? Make some use of yourself."

Harry had learned well enough in his short life that whenever his uncle called him by name or acted remotely nice, something especially nasty was expected to follow. But he had also learned that dodging away from whatever had gotten Uncle Vernon into such a good mood would only serve to make the experience worse. He nodded mutely, drying his hands on a dry rag near the door and slipping his over-sized trainers on.

It hadn't been difficult to figure out who the veterinary in question was, after all the talk that his aunt and uncle had mad about the man. Harry had lingered for a moment before getting the man's attention, his mind running through all the horrible things that could possibly be the reason for Uncle Vernon's good humor. "Er…"

"Doctor Raven." Raven turned to face the boy, his voice sounding much like silk that had been pulled over sandpaper far many more times than necessary, as he took in the sight of the diminutive six year old. "And you are…?" His tone was professional, much like the school nurse that had fitted him for his glasses.

Harry stuck out his hand to shake, pulling his sleeve back to a reasonable length. "Harry Potter." He said breathlessly. There was something about this Raven that told the boy to _trust him._ If Uncle Vernon had sent him to the doctor intentionally, he hadn't really thought his nasty prank out.

Raven's expression was unreadable, which was natural enough if one knew about the mask. "Ah. You're a bit smaller than I expected… What sort of diet are you getting?" He began pressing his fingers against points in Harry's arm, disregarding the proffered handshake as he took note of the boy's emaciated condition. "I dare say it isn't enough for a growing boy."

The subject of his tests shivered under the man's iron-like grip. "I thought you were a veterinarian…" Harry found Dr. Raven's intensity highly unsettling, regardless of any instinctive thought pertaining to the man's trustworthiness.

"I tend to both man and beast." The masked man answered offhandedly, still studying something about Harry that was apparently very wrong. "Your prescription is off and your magical core is doing as well as can be expected for your current condition…"

"My what?" Harry asked flatly. He already had guessed that his glasses weren't right for him, but some of what Dr. Raven was saying made absolutely no sense. What did magic have to do with anything?

"Your glasses are no longer strong enough to counteract your myopia…"

Harry waved him on, too curious to bother with manners. "The thing after that. About my… Magical core? What did you mean by that?" He knew there was no such thing as magic because Uncle Vernon and his belt said so, and that was a fact not to be questioned. But this doctor, a reasonable adult, had commented on it as casually as one would comment on the weather.

Raven stood to his full height and gestured to Harry to follow him. He knocked on Mrs. Figg's door, of all unlikely things, and had entered as soon as the opening was wide enough to permit his skinny frame. After a moments hesitation, Harry did the same.


	2. Well, That Was Fast

Mrs. Figg had started a bit when Harry Potter, of all people, had followed Healer Raven through the door, but had settled as the dark man gestured to the boy to sit down on the depilated sofa. The boy looked more curious than ashamed, so she could only suppose that the good healer had wanted to talk medicine in a more private setting. So when the subject of Harry's magical core came up, her surprise was only a glimmer of shock.

"Your magical core, as I said earlier, is in dismal condition compared to those of your peers…" Raven had begun dryly. "I can only speculate as to the cause of your condition without the proper information, Mr. Potter, but it would seem that your upbringing here has been…" He paused, seemingly searching for an inoffensive way to say it. "…Sub-par?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. He had learned not to speak of such things with adults. "S'okay." He mumbled.

Raven tilted his head towards Mrs. Figg in a way that was very similar to her cat/kneazle hybrids. She answered his unspoken question immediately. "They aren't friendly types, 'specially to anyone that isn't to their satisfaction, and that counts double for young Harry here, I'm afraid. I wouldn't say much for Petunia's parenting skills." She sighed. "I keep telling Albus about what they do, but you know how he is…"

The healer didn't respond, acting almost as if he hadn't heard the mention of the enigmatic Headmaster. "You won't mind if I drop this glamour, will you?" He asked vaguely and rather pointlessly, as Raven dropped the appearance of normalcy soon after the words left his mouth. Mrs. Figg reacted much in the same way as an exasperated mother would while dealing with a child who refused to wear his school uniform properly.

Harry's reaction to the magic, by contrast, was to jump back away from the grim figure with the bone white beak. His green eyes were open as wide as they could go behind his glasses and he found his voice silent, even as he wordlessly gaped at the doctor. He had seen pictures of similar figures in a book on the Black Plague in his school and none of the words that accompanied them were particularly comforting ones.

"Mr. Potter, I am going to ask you to desist with the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look." Raven quipped dryly. "Just because I dress like a plague doctor does not mean I carry the disease." He sat down next to Harry and crossing his legs rakishly, turned his masked face to Mrs. Figg. "Mrs. Figg, if you would care to explain the situation…"

Having the fiercely green eyes lock on her, Mrs. Figg sighed as she took a seat in a nearby rocking chair. "Harry, dear… You were placed with your relatives after your parents were murdered…" At this nugget of information, Harry's expression shifted to one of confusion.

"Aunt Petunia said that they were filthy drunks who died in a car crash." He said quietly, dropping his gaze to his hands.

At this, Mrs. Figg huffed while Healer Raven settled for bristling quietly. "Your Aunt Petunia would drive any one to drink. Neither James nor Lily would be that careless…" At this, Raven's silence became near palpable. "… And I know for a fact that neither of them had a valid driver's license, much less a car, so I doubt that your aunt knows anything about the whole sordid affair. I'm not allowed to say anymore than that about their deaths, Harry. It's… a stipulation on me living here, if you can understand, dear."

Harry nodded mutely, not really understanding at all, but agreeing on principle with Mrs. Figg's sentiments towards his aunt all the same.

Raven rolled his head with the implication that he was doing the same with his eyes. "I was actually referring to the fact that young Mr. Potter here is a wizard. Though I must thank you for clarifying the issue of his parent's demise. I'm sure he was positively thrilled to hear all about it." He turned to face Harry, the crystal eyes of his mask glinting under the brim of his hat. "Mr. Potter, have you any questions for Mrs. Figg or myself?"

Harry blinked. He could ask questions? Without getting punished? "Okay…" Harry raced through his thoughts for something that he wanted an answer for. "What do you mean by 'wizard'? Is it a term for something… odd?"

Raven folded his hands and recrossed his legs before speaking much in the same way that one would explain things to a toddler. "A wizard is a male practitioner of magic. A woman practitioner would be designated a witch. By Muggle standards, magic would be… odd, as you put it. Breaking the laws of physics, ignoring several supposed constants of the universe, that sort of thing. You've heard of Merlin, I hope?"

Harry nodded. He wasn't completely uneducated, despite what Aunt Petunia was so fond of telling people.

"Good." Raven nodded. "That give you an idea of what you are going to be seeing today."

At that Mrs. Figg's head swiveled to face the healer, a shocked expression on her face. "But Albus-"

"-Has no authority over me or my actions." Raven cut her off. "I have not been a student for many years now, besides the fact that Albus Dumbledore has never shown an interest in endearing himself to any members of my house. Any debts that I may have owed the man are now null and void."

He raised a gloved hand to cut off any further protests. "I already know what those Dursleys expect of me- Don't give me that look Arabella, I only used the most minimal amount of Legilimency on Petunia while she was spying on me- and what they expect of me is the kidnap of their nephew, for reasons that I won't trouble you with." The tone of his voice shifted, as if betraying the nasty smirk that remained hidden by Raven's mask. "Suffice to say that I am at loath to undermine their expectations. There is but one more piece to slide into place."

Harry watched with a quiet fascination as the healer subtly drew out an ebony wand that seemed like it had once been cracked in half, but had been fixed by an expert in the repair of such things. With a single sweeping motion, Raven brought his wand level to Mrs. Figg's face.

"Obliviate." There was a flash of light that seemed to knock the woman back in her seat. Raven didn't waste a moment before casting another spell, this one a false memory charm. "You had me over today to check on Mr. Tibbles, as he has been off his feed for the last twenty-four hours. I did my business, removed a hairball, and left without further ado."

The healer spoke quickly, trying to get as much story into the false memory as the time allotment on the charm would allow. "Not too much longer after, you can't really say how long, a man who you didn't see the face of collected Harry from the front lawn of his relatives. There was no struggle, but the man is a stranger to Privet Drive, so asking any of the neighbors is pointless, especially since all of them were at work or out on other business by that time."

Healer Raven gestured to Harry to leave the house quietly, reapplying his glamour as he did so, though not before having to spend a good minute 'encouraging' one of Mrs. Figg's cats to go back into the building with his foot and some muttered curses as it tried to follow their escape. "Blasted things. Always getting underfoot when you least need them to."

They had walked a few streets, Raven constantly turning his head from side to side almost as if he thought he was being watched by every lamppost. He eventually pulled Harry into a small alley between houses, and, having confirmed that no-one was watching, did something that Harry never wanted to experience again if he could help it. He had been sick immediately after, dry heaving on the old wooden floor of the empty store room that they had teleported to, but Raven had failed to react to the mess apart from a faint touch on Harry's shoulder and producing a bucket from somewhere unknown for Harry's use.

"It's called Apparition, if you were wondering. Specifically, Sidelong Apparition, since I carried you along." Raven said after Harry had finished retching into the bucket. The doctor had been waiting along side him with a glass of water held in his gloved hand, even as he banished the vomit with the other. Harry had accepted the glass with a faint thank you and had just begun gulping down the liquid salvation as a small counter-top bell _dinged_ in another room. Looking curiously in that direction, Harry was dimly aware of Raven passing him, glamour removed once more and black feather trimmed coat catching in the air dramatically.

"Stay in the room until I call for you." The words were spoken softly and not without a tinge of worry, but there was an iron underneath that threatened _consequences_ if not obeyed. Harry nodded, though there was no chance of Raven seeing it, as the man was already in the other room.

There were a few distinct advantages to wearing an all concealing mask, such as the one Raven wore, one of the greatest being that one's facial expressions were perfectly concealed. So Raven's expression of disbelief was safely hidden behind warded leather as he took in the unmistakable face of Alastor Moody.


	3. Of Practicality And Shepherd's Pie

Raven blinked for a moment behind his mask. He hadn't expected his ruse to be discovered that quickly… No, this was probably unrelated. The healer thought quickly, shifting his emotions to a neutral state. "What do you need, Mister Moody? I realize your time is valuable." There was an oiliness to the healer's words that was faintly untrustworthy but nondescript for a Knockturn Alley businessman.

Moody grunted as he leaned against the bottle filled counter. "Smarmy Slytherin. You ain't wrong though. I've got better things to do than to loiter around Knockturn Alley." His false eye spun in its socket, focusing on nothing for more than a second. Raven doubted that Harry's presence had escaped detection, but the healer knew for a fact that the eye wasn't made for observing keen details. "What's with the whelp?"

Raven snorted derisively. This, at least, he could be halfway honest about. "Magical child in a house full of bigoted Muggles that weren't fit to raise a flobberworm. I removed him from the situation this morning. It just isn't safe, as you well know." He added at the end. If that passing shot didn't get Moody leaning toward his side, intentionally or not, the healer would eat his hat, feathers and all.

Moody had stood up a little straighter at the word 'safe'. "So you say." He grumbled. "Probably could have done it better myself… But I don't have the time for it." He slapped a couple of Galleons on the counter. "I need some Panacea Protega."

The healer rolled his head for the second time that day. "Of course you do." The green glass bottle slid easily across the polished wood, bouncing only once on a scar too deep to sand out. "Mulpepper's or Pippin's didn't have any in stock?"

At the question, Moody had grunted a vague affirmative, even as he cast a barrage of poison detecting charms at the unassuming bottle. Finally satisfied with the results, he stuffed the Panacea into his pocket and hobbled towards the door. "Keep that beak of yours clean, Raven."

The masked man nodded even as the door fell solidly shut. He returned to the storeroom where Harry still sat frozen on his stool. "How did he see me?" He whispered after a moment of silence.

"Magic." The healer replied airily. "But not a terribly common form, so you've little to worry about there." He kneeled down to inspect Harry's thin face, remaining silent for an uncomfortable space of time before finally speaking. "Have you eaten at all today?" A quiet head shake was all the answer Raven received. The healer sighed. Water was a simple matter, but food? There was only one thing for that.

Raven pulled a jar of flesh colored cream out of a hidden pocket. "If you would be so good as to hold your fringe up, Mr. Potter."

* * *

Healer Raven was never a man overly inclined to foolish wand waving, especially when there was a practical solution available that wouldn't dissolve with the slightest touch of a counter-spell. He would use magical glamours, certainly, but not without some disguise, potion-induced or muggle method, beneath it.

He lightly smacked Harry's hand as the boy reached up to touch his concealed scar, which was disguised with muggle makeup, yet again. His preoccupation with it was beginning to grate on the healer's nerves, which wasn't quite the feat one would expect for a man of his occupation, but a dangerous proposition to anyone that wasn't a defenseless child. One might never know when his hand might just _slip _while preparing one's important medicine, after all…

Raven could have paused as they reached the Leaky Cauldron, but such pauses were for men who oozed uncertainty and the healer had not been one of them since his teenage years. The only break in his gliding stride was as he delicately opened the door, revealing to Harry the famous location in all its ancient pub-worthy glory. The healer pulled the dumbstruck six-year old away from the door before any traffic could build, seating him at a small corner table as Tom hobbled over.

"Hullo there, Mister Raven. Ein't often you're in here, innit?" The aged barman flashed what was left of a crooked smile. "And whose this lad belong to? He ein't yours, is he?" Raven's flat "No." didn't deter Tom from smiling conspiratorially at Harry, who was staring at the healer with a terrified fascination. "Mister Raven here is a regular stick'n the mud, innit he? Wot's your name then, little raven?"

Harry's unmistakable green eyes flashed to Tom, startled by both the innkeeper's direct address and his teasing attitude to the fearsome healer. "H-Harry, sir. Harry-"

"Harry Osborne." Raven cut in smoothly. "Mr. Osborne's father was experimenting with dangerous potions and came out the worse for it, so his son has come under my charge. But we are not here to discuss tragic backstories, Tom. What would you recommend for young Harry here?"

Tom's grin only widened. "Oh, a slice o' the Shepherd's Pie would be jus' the thing for him then. I'll have sommat over in a moment. Anythin' for you, Mister Raven?"

Raven shook his head, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair as to afford the healer a better view of the pub. "Just the boy for today." Tom shuffled off to get Harry's lunch while Harry and Raven sat in silence for a moment.

Rubbing at his forearm absently, Harry finally spoke. "Th-thank you, sir."

"It is nothing more than common human decency, Mr. Osborne." Raven replied, even as the promised Shepherd's Pie was brought out. The healer handed Tom a type of money that Harry had never seen before, but he kept his mouth shut. Raven had told him earlier to avoid any unnecessary small talk while out in public.

Harry stared at the feast before him, only moving to devour it after the enigmatic masked man had motioned to him to 'get on with it'. He had proceeded to bolt the meal, only slowing to a reasonable speed after Raven reprimanded his poor etiquette. It was the best meal he had ever had, Harry thought with relish, and the first warm meal he could remember. If this whole day ended up being a dream, Harry would be content to sleep forever, regardless of any punishment that it would earn him.

Raven's thoughts, by comparison, were serious and dark, as they had been for most of his life. Death Eaters and Order Members seemed to lurk in every corner of the Leaky Cauldron as he silently surveyed the pub. The healer watched patrons come, go and linger on with a raptor's eye, making tiny mental checklists with every name he knew.

Dedalus Diggle, tittering with some unknown, a harmless twit, avoid on principle.

Rubeus Hagrid, swirling the beer in his massive mug, a decent soul, but loose-lipped and securely in Dumbledore's pocket, best to avoid.

A Weasley, judging by the fiercely red hair, talking Quidditch with a server, didn't matter which one, news traveled much too fast in that huge family and would be related to Dumbledore within hours, avoid for sanity's sake.

Doris Crockford, gossiping with some other witches, annoying, loud and persistent, avoid on principle.

Quirinus Quirrell, playing with his fire whiskey as he mulled over a newspaper, harmless, but involved with Dumbledore, avoid as precaution.

Severus Snape…

Raven's whole being tensed as he locked eyes with the potions master. Severus Snape, watching Raven just closely as the healer was watching him, former Death Eater and spy for Dumbledore, avoid like the plague.


	4. The Order Reunites Over Ward Stones

Dumbledore flipped through a ream of letters in his office, quite pleased with the healthy thickness of the stack. There wasn't quite anything like a letter to reinforce how important one really is, after all. The majority of them were Ministry related, a good many of them from Minster Fudge, and the rest were from members of the old Order. Most of them had gone about their lives after the war, but more than a few maintained ties to the headmaster and he had taken many pains to keep those ties strong.

The silver-haired wizard looked over to his collection of ward stones. Every silvery prism was spinning in midair the way they should, reflecting the protective magics that they channeled, except for…

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, twinkling all but a memory in their fierceness. The ward stone linked to the blood wards around Privet Drive was lying on its side on the shelf it was supposed to be hovering over. That was not something that was supposed to happen for almost a decade.

He grabbed a fist full of Floo powder and, throwing it on the fire, called out Arabella's address, desperate for the answers that he had placed her in position to obtain.

Arabella had greeted the headmaster as usual, but as Harry's name came up, she began to panic, babble of a masked Muggle coercing Harry from his safe haven spilling from the Squib's mouth like water from a fountain. Dumbledore had been forced to use Legilimency on her to get any straight information and what little he could glean from it was the fact that someone magical had tampered with Mrs. Figg's memory of Harry's disappearance.

Albus Dumbledore returned to his office in a mood best described as black, his eyes no longer twinkling and his thoughts on the subject of the Boy-Who-Lived and how to get him back.

* * *

Harry looked up from his Shepherd's Pie at Raven, following his gaze to fix on Snape. "Mister Raven, who is that?" The man's hollow, black eyes were unsettlingly magnetic and Harry couldn't find it in himself break eye contact with the potions master, even as the feeling of a something foreign worming through his head intensified.

"Severus Snape." Raven answered flatly, almost as if he was reading about the man in a textbook. "He is the current Potions Professor as Hogwarts and Head of House Slytherin, regarded as one of, if not _the _most talented potioneer in Europe." The tension between the two dark-robed men thrummed against the low murmur of the Leaky Cauldron, until the potions master finally scowled at the healer and left with a billowing of his robes.

"Oh." Harry blinked as he felt the faint pressure that had been probe around his mind suddenly vanish. He picked up his fork and moved to finish his Shepherd's Pie. "He looked like the sort of guy who can read peoples minds."

"That's rather… perceptive of you, Mr. Osborne. More than a few wizards can, and from what I know of Professor Snape…" There was a faint sneer around the name, as if that something that Raven knew of was some crippling deformity that no one else was aware of in Snape's character. "…it would be very surprising if he was unschooled in the art." An approving smile could be heard in the healer's words as his thoughts returned to Harry. "Perhaps we'll make a Slytherin out of you yet."

* * *

A small throng of people, all once members of the Order of the Phoenix, shifted uncertainly in Dumbledore's office, some anxious to find out why they had been summoned at such short notice and others annoyed with the long wait, ready to get back to their perfectly mundane and, more importantly, relatively peaceful lives.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, the sound drawing all eyes towards him. "I realize that my summons are inconvenient…" A small murmur of assent could be heard at these words and tales of interrupted back-to-school shopping would occasionally bubble into discernable words. The headmaster cleared his throat again. "The trouble is this; Harry Potter has been kidnapped by an unknown wizard."

A mismatched chorus of 'What?'s, 'Outrageous!'es, and similarly disbelieving sentiments rang out. One voice remained silent, and managed to make his silence sneer. Severus Snape leaned against a wall in the way a bat would cling to the side of a cave, dark eyes swimming with equally murky secrets. He had been one of the last to arrive, but it wasn't commented on. The man was someone who people preferred to forget, not that they were able to usually.

Dumbledore motioned to the crowd to settle. "What little I do know is this; the kidnapper is a wizard with great powers in mind magics. He erased the only observer's memory of the event and then crafted a false memory to overly the blank, which I was just able to detect and unravel. The true memory of the event was beyond even my abilities to salvage, so there are no clues to what the man looks like."

At this nugget of useless information and some of the reactions it caused, a sneer tugged at Snape's mouth, attempting to tug it into a twisted mockery of a smile. It was humorous, the Potions Professor thought, that a third of the present company had swiveled their heads to glare at him. It was even better to know that his alibi, which had the great Albus Dumbledore himself as a key witness, was airtight and ironclad.

"So what do you propose we do then?" Molly Weasley had asked after a moment. "Can't very well find a man we don't know the face of."

Dumbledore's eyes started their damnable twinkling again. "But we all know Harry's face, now don't we? It's unlikely that our kidnapper will be able or willing to remove himself from the wizarding world or even leave England without activating the secondary level of blood protection that Harry carries. The same applies to attempting harm on the boy."

"Then why must we undertake the effort to locate the boy, when his safety is guaranteed?" Someone who sounded too much like Mundungus Fletcher for anyone to agree with the sentiment asked.

Snape cut in, velvety voice dripping cynicism like a Borgia's ring would drip poison. "Because while the boy may be untouchable, his mind isn't. It wouldn't do for the savior of the wizarding world to have Dark inclinations, would it?"

More filthy looks were directed towards the former Death Eater, though he could care less. He knew that he had spoken the truth, and they knew it too.

Dumbledore's twinkling lost a touch of its previously blinding intensity. "Among other things, Severus. But it is imperative that we find the boy before anything that the blood protections cannot afford a defense against happens to him." With that, the Order was dismissed and Severus Snape trudged back down to his quarters.

Severus's thoughts found themselves pulled to the child that had been staring at him earlier at the Leaky Cauldron. Those uncanny green eyes… He stopped halfway down the dungeon hallway with a sharp intake of breath before shaking his head free of the thought. What possessed him to think that only Lily's son would have green eyes? It wasn't an impossible eye color, especially not in the magical world, where it wasn't uncommon for individuals to have yellow or red eyes.

Besides that one commonality, what else was there? A shock of black hair? There was no scar on his forehead, no luxurious clothes, and certainly no memories of the carefree lifestyle that would have been the Boy-Who-Lived's lot. The Potions Professor had used Legilimency on the small boy who had stared at him almost thoughtfully, who had no real defenses to speak of and memories so dismal and horrific that they served as one unto themselves, Severus had seen the whole mess himself. If that battered, curious and stupidly hopeful child was Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, Severus would willingly consume one of his first year's potions.

But still, he thought, a true Slytherin never took anything at face value. He would lurk about the Leaky Cauldron again and again, until he found the boy and got absolute confirmation that the miserable child that he had spied on earlier that day was not Harry. Bloody. Potter.


	5. Infuriating Figures

It was several days and a few journeys into both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley until Severus caught sight of the boy again, still attached to the side of that infuriating healer who had swatted away his attempts at Legilimency like they had been a buzzing gnat. The potions professor watched the young boy through the corner of his eye, trying to find some defining detail that would make certain that this was not Harry Potter.

His job would have been easier if the boy wasn't staring at him with the same rapt fascination as the last time. Though, Severus thought with grit teeth, it could be worse. The boy could be pointing him out to that damn heal- Oh god damn it. The whelp had.

Snape vanished into Diagon Alley before he could read either of their reactions. That damnable Raven would get no such satisfaction today.

* * *

A second attempt, this time aided by Polyjuice Potion, went much better. Severus Snape would never understand what possessed his mother to save his cut hair, but it had come to use in the end so the ways of mothers would escape comment for the time being.

The Boy-Who-Might-Possibly-Be-Potter-But-Better-Not-Be had accepted Severus's seven-year old self easily, showing the same interest as all the other times that he had seen the man, almost as if realizing exactly who it was who was now trying to engage him in a potions text book that most other children his age would treat as nonexistent.

Harry greatly enjoyed having someone to talk to that was at least pretending to be on his level, and the potions book was fascinating though he had no idea what most of it was. Sev Prince, as he had introduced himself wincingly though the severe line to his mouth had quirked upwards when Harry introduced himself as Harry Osborne, had come into the Leaky Cauldron on his own and had spent no time at all looking around nervously, instead making a beeline for the small table where Harry had been sitting while Raven perused the newest issue of the Daily Prophet.

"So how old are you really?" Harry's chirping voice cut in after a half hour of studious reading and casual conversation.

The question caused Severus to stiffen for a second before forcing his muscles back into a relaxed state, turning to face the emerald-eyed enigma. "As I have already told you; I am seven years old." He didn't bother with a reassuring smile because he had never used one to the desired effect before.

"No, you aren't. You've got to be eleven, at least." Harry smiled as he nudged his new friend as helpfully as he could. "You're way too smart to be my age, Sev."

"Indeed." Raven purred in agreement, casting a Muffliato as he did so. "I would rate you easily as being in your… hmm, mid to late twenties? Highly educated, self-involved, unlucky in love…"

Snape rounded on the man, reacting far too fiercely to Raven's last remark to maintain his façade of innocence. "Oh? And what gave me away? My dislike of pumpkin juice? My shoddy mode of dress? My interest in text books? Enlighten me."

Raven snorted at that, not bothering to take his eyes off the paper as he dissected Severus's disguise. "When trying to establish a cover identity, Polyjuice into someone I do not know and have never seen, much less your childhood self. Also, at least make an attempt to use a vocabulary fitting for use by the age-group you desire to imitate." He turned the page to the horoscopes, almost as if his critique was nothing more than an afterthought. "Otherwise, your performance was… acceptable. Getting your target interested in something you are knowledgeable about, encouraging him to reveal pieces of personal information, giving just enough to create a bond of trust. How very fitting for a snake like you."

Severus hissed his reply. "I could say the same of you, Raven. Allowing a highly dangerous enemy to come within arm's reach of your charge just to discover his motivation, anatomizing and berating my methods of doing so, casting a silencing spell just before confronting him… You certainly know how a member of the house operates, though you are as subtle and observant as any Gryffindor."

Raven folded up his paper, tucking it under his arm to finish later, almost as if he hadn't read it from front to back twice already. "As a former Slytherin, I would be privy to such knowledge and skill sets, being a master of them. Do not take me for a fool, Severus Snape." The healer spat the name like poison, even as his voice deepened from its typical torn silk to a fearsome thunder that called to mind the old magic and the raw power it wielded. "I am not so blind to the games that you play as you may think, as I play them just the same, if not better. I only permit your pathetic attempts at subversion as they both amuse me and further my own designs, so cease your unwarranted arrogance."

"Come along, Mr. Potter." The healer canceled the spell with a dismissive wave of his hand, cutting off any possible passing shots as he and Harry disappeared into the teeming masses of wizards and witches shopping in Diagon Alley.

Severus glowered at the concealing crowd, his stormy mood darkening further as he processed that last bit of information. It was something, but was it a plant of false evidence, or a slip of the truth? He let loose a frustrated hiss under his breath before slipping over to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace and Flooing to his home on Spinner's End. It would be several hours before Severus was fit for civil conversation.

* * *

One might describe the house on Spinner's End as being a series of dark padded cells masquerading as a house, and when Severus was in residence, it often was. It was only there, in a dark, sound-charmed room hidden behind a ceiling high bookshelf that he would dare express the poison vitriol that had festered in his soul since his Hogwarts days. It was there now that he paced, occasionally throwing a hex at a practice dummy.

"That bastard!" He seethed, transfiguring the dummy back into its original state. "If I hadn't seen his corpse myself, I would claim that it was Potter under that mask, since his apparent course in life is to drive me to distraction." Severus threw another spell, slamming the dummy against the wall.

"And then it had seemed like he had given it up. Gotten on with his life and left me alone to my thankless career and Dumbledore's blasted twinkling." The dummy reformed again, only to fall apart under Snape's blasting hex. "But, no, that would be too god damn easy. That thrice-damned Raven comes back with Potter's brat under his wing, probably training him up to harass and harangue me throughout his entire education."

The dummy took flight across the room, crumpling to the floor in a pile of limp stuffing for a moment before flying back to Severus and returning once more to its initial state. This time, the only action that it was faced with was the potions master transfiguring it into a chair and collapsing onto its worn surface. Severus took a shuddering breath, collecting his thoughts, slowly shifting back into the emotionless base state he prided himself on and finding his mental balance again. For a man like Severus Snape, rationality was only a step beneath divinity.

A Slytherin didn't react to upsets with tantrums, he thought to himself harshly. A Slytherin adapted to upsets and turned them to their advantage. It was the role of Gryffindors to curry to their emotional whims and make a mess of everything. A Gryffindor rushed in recklessly where a Slytherin would formulate a plan to enact. So what was his plan going to be?

* * *

**For the next chapter, I'm torn between revealing a bit of information about Raven or perhaps focusing more on Severus again. Does anyone have a preference?**


	6. The Phantom Queen And The Werewolf

Harry sighed as Raven hustled him back to his office, though he tried to wave back at Severus before disappearing into the crow. He had been enjoying himself with Sev, and though it had been a ruse, Harry had still liked him. It was like talking to a slightly more human Raven, complete with clever word twists and stealthy sarcasm. The age difference was unfortunate, though hadn't Harry misrepresented himself, though at Raven's insistence, in almost the same way?

"Raven?" He asked as they entered the clinic.

Raven tilted his head to look directly at Harry. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Why did you talk that way to Sev?"

The healer sighed. "Severus Snape is not your friend, Mr. Potter. The boy you saw earlier no longer exists. He hasn't been 'Sev' for a very long time." He absently fingered the bone white edge of his mask, as if contemplating its removal. "Much in the same way that I have only been 'Raven' for about eight years now, even though I am well over forty years old. Names change, Harry, regardless of if we wish them to or not." He dropped his hand, mask untouched. "However…" He relented at Harry's crestfallen expression. "If you so desire, I can post him a letter if you so choose to write one."

Harry smiled at the idea, before heading upstairs to the threadbare room that Raven had prepared for him. He was beginning to understand how to use the quill, but he had never attempted a letter.

* * *

Raven grimaced under his mask as Harry darted up to his room. It had been almost two weeks since he had brought the boy into his home, and, while they had come to a mutually pleasing arrangement, the healer was finding it difficult to understand Harry and his thought-processes. It wasn't that the boy was obstinate, but he just didn't understand that the wizarding world was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a bed of roses and that there were people that would want Harry dead on account of his name.

He peeked into Harry's room as he silently passed it, observing the boy scribbling on a sheet of parchment with a focused expression that told Raven not to interrupt, so he continued on to his room, sweeping off both his hat and his cloak as he moved through the small hallway. They were gently placed on a hat rack, and Raven continued on, loosening the collar and tight sleeves of his robes as he drew closer to his bathroom.

Gloves were removed as the sleeves were fully unbuttoned, and the straps holding the plague mask close to his face were loosened and then removed fully. With these heavy disguises lifted, an ashen face with a long, aquiline nose and dark, fathomless eyes could be seen. His neck was the worst of it; a nearly solid mass of scar tissue where it appeared that some great toothy beast had attempted, and partially succeeded, to tear his throat out.

Raven sighed at the sorry sight of his reflection, running his fingers through his thick, shortly cropped black hair that was beginning to grey in irregular streaks. He splashed the cold water in the basin over his face, silently enjoying the feeling of the water trickling behind his ears and washing away the sweat of the day.

He took another hand full of water, pouring it through his hair again while he descended into thought. "What do I do now?" He murmured into the sink.

"Oh. Is my poor little raven having difficulties with his second chance?" A woman's voice cooed with false concern. Raven looked up, turning slowly to face the speaker.

A woman with long hair the color of freshly spilled blood and a deathly pallor to her skin leaned against the doorframe, smirking at Raven's exasperated expression. Her eyes glittered inhumanly; black obsidian orbs that seemed focused on everything at once. One would only have to look at her to know that this was no human.

"Morrigan." Raven answered coolly, disregarding her question. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Morrigan chuckled as she straightened herself. "What reason do I need to check on one of my chosen? There are so few of you..." She sauntered over, gliding her hand over Raven's left forearm. He flinched as his mark flared under her touch, though he controlled himself enough not to scream in pain. Smirking, the goddess rolled back part of his sleeve, revealing the mark of a red bird, with wings flared wide, glowing like a fresh brand on his skin. "I own you, little raven. I own your body, branded with my mark. I own your magic, bound with my feather. The only thing I don't own is your mind and that serves me anyway."

Raven ground his teeth in frustration. "I know this, Morrigan. There is no need to reiterate the terms of my bondage. Is there some task that you need done by mortal hands or is this a mere social call?"

She laughed again. "You know me too well, little wizard." Morrigan shifted again to lean against the wall next to the mirror. "I want you to set the stage for war, little raven. The war that was yours was fine, the final battle a thing of beauty. But that was it, a single bloodbath for three years of subtle conflict. No…" She smiled sickeningly. "I want chaos. Total war if you can manage it. You wish to protect the boy, and you may do so. Just set the stage for gore, my raven. Let it be a deluge of blood, to wash away the idea that anyone is superior to my desires." With that she was gone, with the only sign of her being there was the aching in his arm.

"I'll set my end of the board to that end then, milady." Raven muttered to the empty room, moving to re-affix his mask.

* * *

Harry tapped the end of the quill against his chin. What else did he want to say? He looked over the letter, with all of its ink smears and crossed out lines, again.

**Dear /Sev/scratched out/Severus/scratched out/ Professor Snape,**

**How are you? I'm sorry about Raven. He's usually a bit nicer than that, at least to me, so I'm sorry about what he said to you. I really did have fun with you earlier. /You're the second person to be nice to me, so that means a lot to me. /scratched out/ Your potions book was really interesting, so I think I might try to get some of my own to study. Raven says that Potions is a pretty important class at Hogwarts and that a lot of students don't do so great in it, so I want to be ready for it. /It's also interesting on its own so that's a reason too. /scratched out/  
**

**Sincerely, Harry**

**P.S.**

**Maybe we can talk some more at the Leaky Cauldron again, if you're not mad at me and Raven's okay with it.**

He licked the end of the feather before dipping the tip back into the ink and adding another postscript.

**P.P.S.**

**I'm sorry about my writing. Quills are /really/scratched out/ kind of tricky to use. I've never written a letter before either, so I'm sorry about that too.**

Harry smiled as he finished. It wasn't anywhere near as neat as the prescriptions that Raven wrote out, but it was legible. Not bad for a six year-old, he thought to himself.

He ran over to Raven's room, meeting the healer at the door. "Raven!" Harry grinned as he looked up at the slightly disheveled man. "I finished my letter! Could you go over it for me?"

Raven took the parchment gingerly, moving back into his room and sinking into a convenient chair before reading it. Harry had taken jumped onto the healer's bed, bouncing with anticipation as Raven scanned the sheet.

"Is this the first letter you have ever written, Harry?"

Harry nodded hurriedly, a wide smile stretched across his face.

The healer leaned back in his chair to appraise the letter at a small distance. "It could stand to be neater and the composition leaves some to be desired, but it is an excellent effort for your first letter, so I have nothing truly negative to say about it. Shall I send it today?"

More hurried nodding. Raven smiled under his mask as he folded the letter and pressed a simple seal onto it. "Then I shall take this down to the post office immediately."

He stood and walked briskly to the door, plucking his hat and coat from the rack as he passed it. "Keep an eye on the store for me, won't you Harry? Write down any customers that come in along with their prescriptions."

Harry squeaked happily, darting past Raven and down the stairs, taking up his place on a high stool behind the counter. A pad of cheap parchment and a set of different quills sat there at the ready, along with hat identical to the one that Raven always wore. He picked it up with a faintly confused expression.

"That is your mark of office." Raven said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "People remember the hat more than the face. A wine red fez would stand out more, but I do have some measure of self-respect."

Harry jammed on the hat, laughing all the while at the idea of the ominous Raven wearing such a ridiculous hat, barely noticing the healer making his way to the door. "There shouldn't be too many people in, but if anyone gets nasty or you get scared, just scurry into the backroom before they try to hex you; I've charmed it only to open for either of us."

"Understood."

Raven nodded approvingly, as he pushed open the door. "I will return in about fifteen to twenty minutes. Don't leave the clinic under any circumstances."

He exited gracefully, but the effect was lost as the healer mixed with the miscellaneous crowd. Harry was able to watch the man disappear before the door closed all the way shut.

* * *

As Raven had anticipated, it was a slow day. Not a single person came in for the first fifteen minutes, and as Harry practiced his quill handling skills, the small bell on the door rang out. A pair of green eyes looked up at the customer.

The first thought that crossed Harry's mind was how shabby the man's second-hand robes looked compared to Raven's immaculate black ensemble. The man's hair was the second detail that stood out to Harry, the grey flecked brown aging the man's stress-lined face by another five years.

Harry thought about ducking into the backroom like Raven said. Something about this otherwise unassuming man was terrifying, like staring down a predatory beast. He bit the tip of his tongue as the man came up to the counter. "N-name and item d-desired, sir."

The man blinked at the sight of the small boy in the feathered hat manning the counter instead of Raven, but didn't question it. "Ah… Remus Lupin, here for three doses of Wolfsbane."


	7. Tough Questions And Stiff Drinks

**Woah! 2,000+ views! Thank you so much for reading! I'll continue lengthening my chapters and trying to keep my quality up! Just tell me if there is anything that doesn't read right and I'll try to fix it.**

* * *

Harry took the quill in hand, looking down at the parchment as he moved to take down the order. "How do you spell that, sir…?"

Remus chuckled before leaning over the counter to get a better look at the note. "Just call me Remus. 'R'… 'E', 'M'… 'U' and 'S'… 'L', 'U', 'P', an 'I' and then an 'N'." He smiled as Harry boldly underlined his scribble. "Raven isn't in right now?"

"Remus… Lupin… Three… Doses…" He stopped; pulling the parchment away from his face as Raven had done with his letter earlier, grinning at his wonderfully legible printing. "Wolfsbane!" Looked up and shook his head. "He'll be back in a little bit, Mr. Lupin. He's sending a letter for me." He chirped happily. "Raven's the best. He gave me this hat." Harry flicked the brim of his over-sized hat up just high enough to reveal his grin.

The bell tinkled again, prompting Harry to lean over to look past Remus to see who had come in this time. His grin widened as he took in the sight of his protector.

"Raven!" Harry waved. "Remus Lupin is here for his order! Three orders of-"

Raven nodded and pulled the door shut behind him. "Three doses of Wolfsbane, I believe?" He cut Harry off as he plucked three identical vials filled with some foul looking substance from a shelf. "That comes to 6 galleons and 12 sickles, Mr. Lupin. Do you have the money or are we going to barter once more?" The healer whipped out a small ledger into his free hand that appeared to be filled with similar figures.

Remus winced. "What do you have in mind when you say bartering?"

The healer laughed evilly. "You act like I'm so depraved, Mr. Lupin. I was simply going to suggest that you tutor my ward here…" He patted Harry on the shoulder. "…Unless you have something more lucrative lined up?"

The werewolf relaxed. "I can do that. I can do that." He smiled as he tried to get a better look at Harry's face. "So what's your name?"

Harry jumped off his stool and darted around the counter to dance around both Raven and Remus. "Harry! My name's Harry! So what are you going to tutor me, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus kneeled down to Harry's level, studying the boy's face, particularly his bright green eyes, with a faint expression of hope that faded as he noted the absence of a scar, courtesy of Raven's makeup kit. But with the full moon so close, the familiar scent was unmistakable. "Well, considering that you're only about five…" He began, knowing that Harry would be quick to correct him about his age.

"I'm six! Almost seven!"

"Okay," Lupin's grin found itself on his face again at Harry's irate counter. "Since, you are almost seven, we'll probably work on your penmanship, reading skills, that sort of thing."

Harry grinned back at him. "Can I study potions, too, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus blinked. "Why-" He caught the sight of Raven shrugging out of the corner of his eye. "So you can help Raven out with his stock, gotcha."

Raven motioned to Harry not to say anymore just out of Lupin's line of sight. "I'm sure you have other things to do today, Mr. Lupin. I will give you a week to prepare your lesson plans. Harry, I believe that it is time to prepare supper."

Harry nodded, scurrying off to see what he had to cook with in Raven's tiny kitchen. Remus followed the boy with his eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the healer. "So where did you get him, Raven?" He asked with a delicate ferocity.

"None of your business." Raven sniffed. "But unless you want him to be permanently damaged, I wouldn't suggest sending him back. Or talking to Dumbledore about the subject at all."

The werewolf's eyes narrowed, the normally soft amber glinting dangerously. "Is that-"

"It is not a threat, hairball." Raven hissed. "It is simply the fact that his previous situation involved him living in a magic hating household who used him as their personal house elf, which would pretty much guarantee that the boy would end up either magically stunted or inclined to..." He rolled his head irritably. "…darker views on the subject of muggles."

"Why would you care?" Remus asked in a similarly irritable tone.

"I'm a half-blood, you ignoramus. As dreary and dark as I may dress, it would be hypocritical, not to mention monumentally stupid, for me to be a Death Eater because of my status, you twit."

The werewolf groaned. "Why does that sound like an argument I've heard before…?"

Raven rolled his head condescendingly before launching into a lightly more nasal and high-pitched imitation of the quintessential angst-ridden teenager. "'I'm a half-blood, you ignoramus. Even though I was sorted into Slytherin, it would be hypocritical, not to mention monumentally stupid, for me to be a Death Eater because of my status, you twit.'"

Remus winced as he finally remembered exactly where he had heard it before. "Ah, that was it. Except it was Snape who said it the first time…" He refocused his attention on Raven. "How did you hear it?" The werewolf asked with a faint suspicion.

* * *

Severus paced, this time in his Hogwarts quarters and long after most people would be in bed. He had toyed with the idea of taking his scrap of information to Dumbledore, but the prospect of handing him a false lead was unsavory. There was no love lost between the two, at least Severus hoped that it was so, but there wasn't a great need to endanger his position. But, again, if he failed to come forward with important information…

He shook his head before downing a mouthful of firewhiskey. That damn Raven had him by the balls and they both knew it. The bastard.

The sound of a tapping at the small dungeon window broke through the potions master's reverie. He let the perfectly mundane owl in, and wordlessly removed the letter from its beak. Severus only suspected bad news concerning Death Eaters and Dark Lords…

But no. It was simply a messy childish scrawl masquerading as a letter with a small note authored by Raven attached. The note advised, in a cramped, spidery handwriting not dissimilar to the professor's own, not to be a complete ass to the boy and that the letter was quite impressive for a six-year-old who had never held a quill before so he could kindly shut the hell up about it.

It also mentioned playing nice since the boy actually seemed to like him, for some unfathomable reason, but Severus was disinclined to play nice with any potential spawn of his school-hood bane, so there had to be some great redeeming… His eyes widened imperceptibly as he read Harry's sloppy letter.

"What the hell…" He murmured aloud before reading it again.

A Potter… interested in Potions? Impossible. Severus managed to find a chair before collapsing from shock. Just as impossible as a Potter being interested in his feelings and well-being.

And Harry wanted to talk to him again. Severus was thankful for the fact that he was already sitting securely because that would have sent him reeling to the floor. What else could happen today, he wondered. Was a flood of galleons about to pour into his vault from some distant relative? Would Dumbledore fall off the Astronomy Tower and give everyone a break from his stupid twinkling? Were black, conservatively cut robes about to come back into style along with serpent tattoos?

Severus knocked back the remainder of his firewhiskey in one shot. He might as well get falling down drunk while the rest of the world was insisting doing the same.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore would have given his Order of Merlin for a stiff drink at the moment, but that would have done little to improve his image with the Dursleys. He had just managed to avoid getting shot by Vernon, but it was difficult making any leeway with the close-minded muggles.

"I am not asking you to take the boy back in. The wards are unsalvageable at this point and your feelings of misgiving are clear on the subject. But any information that you have on his kidnapper needs to come forward right now." He said again, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. It was quite easier to get information out of a house elf than these wretched people.

"How can we hold you to that?" Petunia screeched, rattling the glasses in the cupboards. "Your kind was the ones to leave the little freak here! What says that you aren't going to do it again?"

Vernon blustered from behind the relative safety of his wife. "We can't afford a charity case! Especially not with any freaky business attached to it! We've got enough to do with our own boy without exposing him to that tosh!"

Dumbledore had endured a long day. Ordinarily, the headmaster was a man of an exceedingly even temper. But that evenness was only attained through much practice and hardship, and it had limits. One of these limits, apparently, was spending an extended amount of time with the Dursleys.

"Enough!" He roared, rattling the tremulous glass again. The light flickered ominously under the massive pressure of his magic. "I care not about your obsession with normalcy! I am here to find Harry Potter and for that I am willing to put up with your ignorant babble and xenophobic propaganda!" A strong breeze sprang from seeming nothing, rushing through the house, disturbing anything that wasn't properly weighed down and rattling anything that was.

Petunia and Vernon cowered as they were faced with someone who had quickly shed the skin of a kindly grandfather figure to reveal a powerful sorcerer capable of wiping their entire family from human memory underneath.

The sound of locks popping open followed by a small door creaking open cut through the din of rushing wind like a shot in the night. A pair of painfully blue eyes turned to look, even as two other pairs of eyes looked to the floor in silence. Dumbledore walked over to the suspect cupboard.

"What. Is. This."

The words came quiet, but in the quietness there was a cold steel that threatened violence. No answer was forthcoming. The next question came as a roar.

"What is this?!"

Every door in the house slammed against the nearest wall as they sprang open, scarring the walls with deep holes. Half the windows shattered and a vase that had been a wedding gift from Mr. Dursley's mother shattered all over the living room.

The Durselys quivered in their kitchen, thankful for the fact that Dudley was once again at a sleepover with his friends.

Dumbledore stormed out of the house, taking his terrifying magic with him, too angry to even think of speaking to the muggles without cursing them. He apparated to a place he knew was abandoned and unleashed his fury on the entire scenery, reducing much of it to dust with the first hex.

When he left, hours later, nothing of that place was left but a memory and a slightly less angry wizard, which did not bode well for the Dursleys. A furious wizard would just kill a man and then get sent to prison. A wizard who was simply angry had the ability to be dangerously creative with their curses and a lot better about not getting caught.


	8. The Memory Of Marauders

**+3500 Views already? Where are you all coming from?**

* * *

Dumbledore returned to his office in a black mood for the second time that month. Cursing the Dursleys with nerve twinges, digestive incontinence, sensitive goiters and other similarly pleasant experiences had soothed his fury by several hundred degrees, but it wasn't a perfect solution. Harry Potter was still missing, with no clues as to where he was, except that he had gone there of his own free will and that it was with a wizard.

Albus sighed, putting his head in his hands and trying to organize what little data he had. What was he to do next? He had next to nothing in means of information and no idea what to do with Harry Potter when, or if, Albus thought darkly, they found him again.

His eyes wandered to the crystal decanter that rested on a nearby shelf, glittering in the candle-light and half-filled with amber firewhiskey.

Perhaps it was time for that drink that he had wanted earlier…

* * *

Remus looked hard at Raven for a moment, trying to get an identifiable scent from the man at the same time. It was difficult to find anything to fix on though, the mess of owls, Wolfsbane, Harry, raven feathers and leather scents covering and distorting whatever it was the werewolf was looking for.

Raven tilted his head towards the door, casually dismissing Lupin. "We are closing momentarily, Mr. Lupin. I will see you next week then. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes." The werewolf answered stiffly, tucking his vials of Wolfsbane into a deep pocket of his robe. "Until we meet again…" He stopped at the door, turning slightly on his heel.

The healer leaned in Remus's direction, as it seemed the werewolf wanted to say something else. His hunch was correct.

"If I find out that you hurt Harry… I'll make sure that you don't soon forget it." He snarled.

With that, Remus Lupin exited the clinic and out into the increasingly deserted street.

Raven just smirked under his mask. "Let it never be said that the Marauders weren't memorable."

* * *

Mad-Eye Moody tromped through the clammy halls of Azkaban, accompanied by one of its mortal guards. Their footsteps splashed and echoed in the unforgiving piece of unholy architecture, the vague howl of wild wind eerily interspersed by the screaming of the inmates and the shrieking of the dementors who drank their happy memories, and eventually their souls, away.

"So, what do you want that one for?" The guard growled, smashing a hand that reached out too far with his staff. "He's guilty as sin, you know it as well as I do."

Moody grunted an affirmative, his magical eye whirling to fix on the multitudes of people that he had imprisoned in this salt-stained hellhole. "I jus' want to see if he has any information on a current missing person's case. Might turn up a corpse instead of the kid in question, but it's also a chance to kick the traitorous bastard again, so I'm not complainin'." The guard nodded before turning to smash another difficult inmate's face in.

They ascended the rest of the floors in relative silence, aside from telling various inmates to shut up. When they reached the cell that Moody needed, the guard opened the door and gestured for Moody to go inside. Moody nodded to the man, and the other stepped slightly to the side to allow the Auror admittance.

The man that lay on the ratty cot inside looked near death, his dark hair oiled, tangled, and matted, and his skin waxy and drawn tight over the fine bones of his face. Unsettling pale eyes stared blankly from his skull-like face, haunted and fixed on something beyond the horizon.

"Sirius Black." Moody growled as he launched a powerful kick into the man's ribs, possibly cracking three of them. "Wake up, traitor. I mean to have words with you."

Sirius hacked, holding his hand over his ribs in a defensive reflex as he turn to look at his aggressor. "Mad-Eye Moody. To what do I owe this pleasure?" He cracked a broken grin at the Auror before receiving a sharp kick to the shoulder that bowled the starvation thin man over.

Moody gestured for the guard to go bother the Lestranges for a time. "As much as I'd rather just spend our time together kicking your lying, backstabbing, worthless Death Eater ass, I need some information that only scum like you would know." He yanked the subject of his interrogation upright.

"I'm flattered." Sirius sneered before lurching to the right as Moody slapped him. He steadied himself and spat out a stream of blood onto the filthy stone floor. A small flare of anger could be seen in his pale grey eyes. "I can see why they call you 'Moody'." He spat defiantly.

"I'm not here for your sass, Black." The Auror snarled, preparing to strike the man again. "I'm here to find out what you and your ilk have done with the Potter boy."

At the name 'Potter', Sirius's eyes flashed to panicked life and fixed on Moody like a man possessed. "What?" His voice jumped up a pitch. "How- Hagrid said that he'd be safe. Dumbledore put down wards! Lily's sister! How could you let this happen? My godso-"

Moody slapped him again, knocking him to the rough stone floor. "Cut the crap, Black. You don't know the meaning of the word 'loyalty'. If you have any information, spill it before I spill you."

Sirius didn't respond, instead curling into a fetal position and mumbling incoherently about how people were supposed to prevent this, how it was his fault and how could they let this happen. He stayed down, murmuring and staring into space as he drew his soaking wet, threadbare blanket around himself, and Moody growled with frustration, spitting on the prisoner before leaving the cell as a parting shot, slamming the door behind him as he shuffled down the hall.

"We're done here." Moody yelled to the guard, who was slamming Roldolphus against the bars of his cell using his beard. "Now let's get off this god-forsaken rock."

Pale eyes shone with worry in the semi-dark of the cell. Sirius Black listened to the sound of the crashing ocean and the whispering of the dementors, swallowing a lump that had just caught in his throat. He'd have to attempt to do the impossible once more in his life.

He'd have to escape from Azkaban.

Sirius closed his eyes and took a rattling breath. He only hoped he could survive long enough to help his godson.

Haunted eyes opened again, this time shining with a quiet determination to live.

"Harry." Sirius whispered to no one.

* * *

Harry stirred the cooking spaghetti dutifully, grinning as he fished out some limp noodles and let them slip back into the pot again. He figured it would be about two or three minutes before they were ready to eat.

He hopped off the stool happily, grabbing a pair of plates and glasses, setting the small table easily. Everything was perfect. It was weird at first, eating at the same table as Raven, but the man had insisted on it and Harry had adapted, discovering that the masked man wasn't as flawlessly composed as he made himself out to be.

Raven came into the kitchen with a faint aura of curiosity around him. "So what are you making for dinner, Mr. Potter?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs, Raven!"

"Again?"

Harry frowned as he moved to scoop the noodles into a bowl. "I thought that you liked it."

Raven groaned. "I do like it, but three times in one week is a bit much for anyone." He pulled off his mask, revealing his face, subtly altered so that Harry wouldn't connect any more dots that necessary. He ran his hand through his hair, almost as if disbelieving in its short length. "Would you like me to acquire a cooking book for you?"

Harry shrugged, already familiar with the healer's assumed countenance. "I guess that'd be okay."

Raven smiled slightly. That was as good as a 'yes' for him. And there was a fair chance of something that wasn't spaghetti in the future if he did so.

Definitely a win-win situation.

* * *

Severus Snape woke up groggy, greasy hair sticking to his face and unsure of the exact events the night before. The letter from the Potter brat had to be a dream, a strange dream fueled by firewhiskey…

But there it was on the table, mocking him. Severus gritted his teeth, grabbing for something to support him while he stood up. He missed leaning on the end table and fell to the stone floor in a tangled of black robes and blankets. A burst of profanity could be heard from the next room over that would have gotten a student detention for a month if they had been the one to say it.

He growled as he crawled over to a table that wasn't liable to crawl away from him out of spite. Pulling himself up, Severus saw again that blasted letter that was causing him so much trouble. He considered setting it on fire once he properly got his bearings. Yes. Immolation seemed a fitting fate for this scrap of scribble.

Severus, completely missing the instant in which his fireplace flashed brighter for a second, threw the letter in without a backwards glance. Let it burn on its own time. He had a hangover cure to brew.

* * *

Dumbledore pulled out of the fire, a piece of paper and a confused expression stuck to his face in place of the look of consternation that had previously been in residence. Apparently Severus hadn't seen him attempting to firecall him. The headmaster decided that he would try later after the potions master got his daily sulking out of the way. What was exactly was this anyway?

He took the scribbly letter into his hands and, smoothing it out slightly, began to read.


	9. Hangovers And Hypothermia

Sirius Black stared through the barred window blankly, not so focused on the dismal sight as he was on the sounds. None of the human guards had been around in days, as they were wont to do with the overwhelming presence of the dementors and Sirius knew that he had to escape now while they remained away.

He shifted into his animagus form as a dementor opened the door to his cell to deliver his meager lunch and slipped by it, willing to go hungry to escape from the prison. The chill was slightly less now that his thoughts were less complex, but still present enough to remind Sirius not to linger long in his current environment.

The scraggly black dog darted through the salt water soaked prison almost madly, trying to escape the building before catching a sane person's attention. It was only when he got to the crashing sea that Sirius realized how completely and utterly insane his plan was.

It was a suicide mission.

It was also his only chance.

With gritted teeth, Sirius Black launched himself into the raging waters.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore wasn't particularly familiar with finding himself in awkward positions, which was unfortunate because Harry's letter had placed him in a particularly delicate example of one, as it was both a fount of invaluable information and a cause not to act on it.

Harry had been at the Leaky Cauldron, apparently more than once. He had made contact with Severus and seemed fond of the acerbic potions professor for some unfathomable reason. He was staying with a man named Raven who apparently was taking excellent care of the boy.

It also implied, under scratched out lines that Albus had used magic to see around, that his childhood was a thoroughly unpleasant experience, not unlike that of Tom Riddle. The headmaster shuddered at the thought of another Voldemort existing because of his own blind faith in basic human goodness.

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. He needed another perspective, someone who was in on the secret. He walked over to the fire place, letter folded into the sleeve of his robe neatly. "Severus Snape's Quarters!" He shouted, throwing down the necessary Floo powder.

Exiting the fireplace in Snape's dreary quarters, Dumbledore looked around for the greasy haired man but finding nothing. "Severus!" He shouted. The sound of tinkling glass and muffled cursing could be heard from the classroom next door.

"What do you want, Headmaster?" Severus snapped as soon as the portrait door was wide enough not to insult the person in the painting. "I was attempting to brew a hangover potion, but now that my efforts have been rendered a moot point, you now have my full, undivided, headache-enhanced attention."

"I would like you to explain this letter to me, Severus." Albus pulled out a letter that Severus immediately recognized as Potter's. "I assumed that there was a reason for you throwing it at me through the floo call."

Severus winced, this time only partly from his headache. "I received this in by owl post last night." He said honestly. "I had attempted several times over the last few weeks to acquire some reliable reconnaissance on a boy that looked suspiciously similar to the missing child." The spy rubbed his forehead in frustration, trying to sort through his information properly. "The boy, who I now believe to be the missing Potter brat, took an interest in me and sent me this letter after a small conversation about potions in the Leaky Cauldron. I believe it to be a childish prank or a work of unabashed sycophancy."

"Please Severus." Dumbledore chuckled, happy for something amusing to arise from the situation. "The boy is far from being a student, much less a Slytherin. I would not be so bold as to accuse a boy of only six years old of brown-nosing. Playful chicanery is far more likely, but it is wholly possible that the boy genuinely likes you."

Severus scowled and slouched into himself, but didn't say anything to attempt to refute the headmaster. Dumbledore would only laugh it off as the denial of a growing affection.

"But I digress. What is bothering me now is the subject of Harry's current caretaker. Tell me, what can you tell me about this 'Raven'?"

* * *

Raven groaned as he creaked out of his ancient bed. It seemed that his age was catching up with him, he thought ruefully, even as he slid his spine back into alignment with a series of small pops. Of course, actively participating in two wizarding wars and dealing with the infamous Hogwarts inter-house rivalry didn't do much to help matters...

Harry had come rushing in not too long after that, breathlessly asking if a reply had come to his letter to Professor Snape. Raven had told him that it hadn't, but, seeing Harry's face fall, it had been less than a day and the professor had other things to do besides go through and respond to his correspondence.

"Now, as today is widely considered a day of rest, I have a free day." Raven smiled at Harry as he buttoned the sleeves of his robes. "What do you want to do with our freedom?"

Harry's eyes lit up after a moment of deep thought. "Can we go to the sea?"

* * *

Sirius struggled against the powerful ocean, making what felt like inconsequential progress with each passing minute.

It seemed like hours since he had leapt off the rocky shore of Azkaban into the freezing sea, but something in the dog animagus wouldn't allow him to sink into the frigid depths and to his eternal rest.

When he crashed onto the coarse sand of a beach, Sirius thought he had finally died. The black dog dragged himself out of the surf, collapsing right at the tide line before falling unconscious.

He had made it.

He had escaped Azkaban.

He had escaped the ocean's crushing waves and sucking depths.

Now he only had to escape death by hypothermia.

* * *

Harry stood at the edge of the cliff, green eyes flashing bright and wild black hair floating in the wind that blew almost straight up from the pale cliffs. He laughed, arms spread like wings, even as Raven stood behind him, breathing the raw cleanliness of the sea air.

"So, Mr. Potter, what do you think of the mighty sea?" He asked silkily.

"Ahh!" Harry sighed as he pulled away from the cliff's edge to stand next to the healer. "It's big and it smells wonderful! I understand why people like to come here." He wandered over to the cliff again, looking down on the pale stretch of sand that lay far below, and frowned.

Raven strode over, noticing Harry's darkened mood instantly. He followed the boy's gaze and his eyes narrowed behind his mask as he saw the source of Harry's discontent.

There was a large, ragged black dog sprawled out unnaturally on the beach.

"Is that dog dead, Raven?"

Raven pulled Harry towards a small path cut into the cliff, swirling his black cloak behind him. "I intend to find out, Mr. Potter."

They picked their way carefully across the cliffside, Raven pulling Harry away from a falling death several times as the boy stepped on seemingly all of the weak areas of the weathered chalk. When they finally reached the beach, Harry had rushed over to the half-drowned hound, only stopping an arm's length away at Raven's sharp reprimand.

Raven's deft fingers prodded the dog, detecting a faint but steady heart beat in its chest, shallow breathing in its lungs and a thick swallow in its throat. "I daresay that the dog can be saved. If we may return to the clinic, we can get him warmed up and dried off."

Harry nodded. It didn't feel right just to let the animal die. Who had dumped this poor dog in the ocean anyway?

* * *

Severus hissed. "Healer Raven is an aggravating man in a mask who cannot keep his beak in his own business. He runs a clinic and apothecary in Knockturn Alley, apparently brewing his own potions and salves, I know not where specifically. Your pet werewolf would probably know him or, at least, of him; he's one of the only men in Britain who stocks Wolfsbane."

Dumbledore nodded. "And what of his history, Severus? I need to know if I can trust this man with Harry Potter's safety."

The potions master grimaced. It was always about trust with Dumbledore. "The man's history is a highly contested subject among the gossips and the true story is unknown. This much I know; the man was educated here at Hogwarts, likely a decade or so before my time here, sorted into Slytherin and a highly competent spell caster, capable of wandless and wordless magic." He said flatly. "It is unknown who he once was, as he clothes almost every inch of his body and does little to no business with the Gringotts goblins that would otherwise identify his given name and family."

The headmaster turned over the note that Raven had sent with Harry's letter. "He appears to be protective of Harry already." He placed the letter on a table gently, looking at Severus with a faint twinkle returning to his eye. "You need not do it now, but I insist that you respond to young Harry's letter. I daresay that the boy might surprise you. It may also put you in a place as a confidant for him."

Severus only paused for a moment before leaving the room after Dumbledore returned to his office through the fire. Leave it to him to put him in the most awkward of situations. At least he could now go brew that hangover potion undisturbed…

He looked at the letter again and subconsciously bit his lip. How the hell was he, Severus Snape, Bat of the Dungeons and bane of the Gryffindor house, supposed to win the trust of a child, let alone the Potter scion?

* * *

When Sirius woke up both warm and dry, he had initially assumed that it meant that he was dead. He didn't open his eyes, but it just felt much too comfortable to be any earthy house. But no, the rough rubbing that rustled his wiry fur felt very real, so he cracked open his eyes only to be startled by the bright green ones that stared at him from just beyond his nose tip.

Harry grinned. "He's awake!" He bounced around the room, occasionally stopping over to look over the dog again before spinning back into his celebratory dance. "He didn't die!"

Sirius wagged his tail weakly. James was always so excitable about the silliest things… He thought deliriously, still not quite sure that he was still in the land of the living.

Raven rolled his eyes, now only wearing surgical mask to conceal his face. "As I informed you, Mr. Potter, this canine is a hardy beast. After we rendered the proper counter-active measures against hypothermia, the creature had the size and strength to recover on his own." He ruffled the dog's hair, resulting in another weak tail wag. "However, it would be prudent to allow him to recuperate before you start harassing him."

Harry nodded, rushing off to another room and quickly returning with a woven turquoise blanket that he roughly bundled Sirius in, just allowing his head, front paws and tail to show out from the worn cloth. "That will warm him up faster, won't it Raven?"

The healer tilted his head, dark eyes glittering analytically. "It certainly will." He said in an amused tone. "It will also prevent him from moving around until he is fully ready to do so. But a decent meal will help him as well. Something warm, but not overly complex, like… some bread chunks in warm milk, perhaps."

Sirius barked harshly in agreement, his hollow stomach echoing the sentiment.

"I'll make some for him then!" Harry grinned before bustling off to the kitchen, the clatter of food preparation marking the boy's every move.

Raven scratched the dog behind the ears. "You certainly are a lucky one."

Sirius barked softly in agreement.


	10. A Reply To A Letter

Severus ran his fingers through his thick greasy hair, staring at the letter on his desk and the blank parchment that lay next to it, ready to take the form of a reply. He made half a motion to take up his quill, the latest of many, but drew back after a second thought. At any other time, with any other person, the reply would be penned, venomous and exacting, and in the talons of an owl before the day was out. But, Severus sighed, razor words and poison pen were not tools to use to gain the trust of a child. Especially if that child was a Potter.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. Those green eyes, Lily all over again down to the tiniest detail, wouldn't leave him alone and it was beginning to awaken old feelings of guilt in the potions master. It was… Severus struggled for the appropriate word. Unbalancing, he supposed, would do.

The potions master re-read Harry's letter for what seemed like the thousandth time, sighing in frustration. What approach could he possibly take with the boy? He finally took up his quill after a moment of thought, smoothly beginning the first line.

**Mr. Potter, **

Severus paused a moment before returning to his letter. Honesty, he could truthfully say, did not easily lend itself to the Slytherin Head's pen.

**The arrival of your letter was surprising to say the least, and it is only now that I find myself able to compose a satisfactory reply. **

**As to my current well-being, I am currently preparing for yet another monotonous year of teaching a potentially deadly subject to children who have no concept of restraint, so I am doing as well as can be expected. I ask you not to worry yourself over the admittedly antagonistic relationship between Healer Raven and myself, as we have never been on friendly terms and likely never will be.**

**I must confess that I was surprised by your enjoyment of my company, as only a few individuals have ever expressed that sentiment, your mother being one of them. If you are interested in studying potions and once I have the time to compile it, likely a week or so after school begins, I will send you a list of books that may assist in your study of the subtle science of potion-making.**

**It will likely be a long while before I am available to meet with you again in person, the winter holidays at the closest and the summer holidays at the farthest. Regarding your handwriting, you have more skill than many of the first years whose essays I have to read weekly, so I expect your ability to greatly improve before it is your essay that I am reading. You have no choice in this matter.**

**Sincerely,**

**Severus Snape**

He signed his name with a subtle flourish, allowing the ink to dry for a moment before deftly folding the letter and sealing its envelope shut with a blob of black wax and an unadorned seal.

Within minutes, the potions professor swept elegantly into the owlery, only taking a moment to select an acceptable owl to carry his letter forth. Severus watched for a moment as the tawny bird swept off into the sky before returning to his duties. There was still a half a barrel of glitterfish to clean and scale in the dungeon.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge sat in his office contemplating his breakfast; a lovely, freshly-baked, sugar-glazed, pumpkin spice doughnut accompanied by a cappuccino, crowned with a towering mountain of whipped cream that was graced with a beautiful swirl of rich caramel, something new that, despite its newness, was quickly finding favor in the offices of the Ministry. He made a note to find a way to get better access to the heavenly caffeinated drinks. Sending an aide was all well and good, but aides had a habit of fouling orders and spilling the sacred nectar. Perhaps he could get the necessary support to open one of those… Starbucks, they were called… in Diagon Alley or perhaps even within the atrium itself… He was the Minister of Magic after all, and the Minister of Magic should be able to get his favorite coffee without having to floo someone all the way over to the States. He moved to take a sip from the caramel cappuccino.

Suddenly, a ragged owl burst in through a window, spilling onto Cornelius's desk and spilling the caffeinated beverage all over the minister's copy of the Daily Prophet. It surrendered its burden gladly, a hastily scribbled note in a scrap of grubby parchment.

Fudge took it distastefully in hand, already irritated with the unknown sender for ruining his breakfast. His expression shifted from irritation to shock and then on into horror, while the bedraggled owl munched quietly on his doughnut, speckling both his desk and its feathers with sugar and cake crumbs.

The minister failed to notice. There were more pressing matters at hand. He burst into his secretary's office. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban!" Cornelius said breathlessly. "Summon the press and scramble the Aurors immediately!"

The secretary nodded. "Understood, Minister."

* * *

Sirius yawned, stretching out his long legs as he shrugged out of the blanket that Harry had wrapped him in the night before. Standing up to his full height, he scratched himself around his jaw before realizing that he was scratching himself with a hand rather than a paw.

"Good morning, Mr. Black."

He whirled around, coming to face an imposing figure wearing a bone white plague mask. Sirius jumped backwards with a yelp, grasping for a wand that he simply did not have anymore.

Raven rolled his head. "So much for the much touted Gryffindor bravery."

Sirius squinted at the masked man as if the action would allow him the ability to see through the all-encompassing mask. "…Snivillus?"

"I rather prefer Raven, Mr. Black." Raven said silkily. "If you would kindly sit down, I need to examine you."

"For what?" The Black heir asked flatly.

Raven pushed Sirius towards the examination table. "Mr. Black, you almost died from hypothermia yesterday. While you have recovered from the initial shock, there is a distinct possibility that your immune system had been weakened by your little swim and by your obvious state of malnutrition." He ran a finger over the convict's jutting ribs, managing to touch six of them before getting shoved away.

Sirius scowled at the healer. "And why would you be worried about that, Snivillus?" He received a light smack on the back of his head for his insult.

"Because, while I may not care for you or your juvenile antics, Harry is very fond of his new 'dog' and I am at loathe to take that away from him." Raven turned to face Sirius again. "I also believe that it would be prudent to have more than one capable protector in place around the boy."

"Raven?" Harry's voice carried into the examination room. Sirius visibly perked up at the sound, though Raven gestured at him to keep his mouth shut. The dog animagus ignored him, instead bounding over to the door like an excited puppy.

"Harry!" He shouted, moving to envelop Harry in a grungy hug.

Harry sidestepped Sirius easily, rushing over to Raven and hiding himself in the healers cloak, the only part of him visible being his green eyes. "Who is he, Raven?" He whispered almost fearfully.

Sirius deflated at Harry's tone, slumping into his ragged prison robes and appearing even more corpse-like than before.

Raven looked towards Sirius. "This is Sirius Black, your… godfather." He offered flatly.

"My what?"

* * *

Dumbledore mused about the information that Severus had given him. This Raven was a quandary and not one that Albus could unravel at his leisure.

A healer, sorted into Slytherin, in his mid-thirties to mid-forties, willfully concealing his identity in some of the least convenient ways possible and willing to make an honest living as a healer despite being a powerful wizard easily capable of greater things had come into possession of The-Boy-Who-Lived, who was six years old, the son of two Gryffindors, an orphan and one of the most famous names in the wizarding world.

He sighed, playing absently with his half-moon glasses. Remus Lupin might be able to cast some more light on the subject of Healer Raven, but it would be several days before the werewolf would be able to do so.

His thoughts were interrupted by Professor Snape bursting into his office, closely followed by the rest of the staff. A crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet was clenched tightly in Severus's hand.

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall shouted. "Black has escaped! Where's Harry?"

The headmaster froze for a moment before galvanizing into action. "Severus." He said as he rose from his seat and walked past the group.

Minerva turned slightly to look at Severus suspiciously.

"If we were to go to Knockturn Alley, would you be able to locate Healer Raven's clinic?" Dumbledore continued, even as he tromped down the stairs with the whole faculty in tow.

Severus grimaced. "Unlikely. I have never been there."

Hagrid's eyebrows popped up. "Raven's? I hap'n to know 'is place. 'E's a good 'un."

The sound of footsteps clamoring down the hallway ceased and every pair of eyes turned to face the half-giant, who squirmed slightly under their combined focus.

"Fang ate sommat in the Forest tha' made 'm awful sick once." He mumbled. "'ad ta take 'em to Raven. Man's a veterinary, 'sides a healer."

All of the eyes, aside from Severus's, turned back to Dumbledore, who shrugged off the faintly scandalized looks. "I've heard some things about the man, both good and bad." He admitted. "He might be able to assist us in protecting Harry."

More than a few incredulous looks were exchanged, but no complaints were voiced as the party made its way out to the nearest Apparation point and vanished into thin air.

* * *

"I'm your godfather, Harry." Sirius tried to pull an easy smile again, but, aside from a faint twitching at the corners of his mouth, it wasn't coming. "Uncle Siri… Remember?"

Harry stared at the filthy, emaciated man with the haunted eyes that followed him wherever he went in the room. He shook his head 'no' even as he clutched tighter to Raven's dark robes. Raven petted his hair absently, even as he carefully eyed Sirius, mindful of the man's quick temper.

He shouldn't have worried. Sirius Black's only move was to sink to his knees, curling into himself silently before transforming almost reflexively into his dog form. Harry twitched at the revelation, shifting forward in anticipation of going to Sirius but holding himself back a second after that.

Raven sighed, taking the initiative himself. He walked over to where Sirius lay, whining softly, and picked the huge dog up easily. The healer took him into the backroom and, after conjuring a suitable dog bed, placed the great dog down on it, giving him a soft, absent-minded pet after doing so.

The healer left the room, closing the door as softly as he could manage. Harry stood there behind the counter, watching him with large, unblinking, unflinchingly green eyes. Raven grimaced under his mask, knowing that there was going to be a very long, very difficult conversation in the near future.

But, Raven thought ruefully as the bell on the door chimed out a cheery greeting even as a dozen pairs of feet tromped into the shop, that was still the future. The present was enough of a trial as it was without bothering with what had already come to pass and what had yet to come.

He leaned confidently onto the counter, folding his arms as he surveyed his guests. "Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore… and company." He nodded to Hagrid. "Fang is doing well?"

Hagrid nodded, smiling at the thought of his faithful hound. "E's doin' loads better now. I keep it in mind not ta let 'im eat anythin' tha I can't 'denify."

Raven nodded. "Then I don't suppose that Fang is the reason for your visit then."

"I am afraid that is my doing, Healer Raven." Albus said as he stepped forward with an unapologetic twinkle in his eye.

Both Severus and Raven snorted at that before taking a moment to stare antagonistically at each other. The rest of the Hogwarts staff did a slight double-take between the two dark robed men.

Albus coughed. "As I was saying, Healer Raven… Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban and it has come to my attention that Harry Potter has found a home with you..."

A pair of green eyes peeked out from behind Raven's cloak as if summoned by the mention of their owner's name.

"You called for me, sir?" Harry asked in a small voice. His eyes darted from person to person until they fixed on Severus. "Hello, Professor Snape." He said shyly, breaking eye contact with the severe potions master to look at the floor.


	11. Nothing But A Hound-Dog

"Mr. Potter." Severus said curtly, nodding to Harry in a vaguely supportive way that had all of the other professors looking at him as if the potions master was crazy. "I received your letter."

Harry's eyes sparkled. "Did I do alright?" An owl crashed into a window, rattling the glass and the conversation. Raven motioned for it to open, and took the bedraggled owl in hand, gently extracting a letter from its talons. The healer checked the address on it and made an appreciative noise that drew all eyes to him.

"I believe that this may answer your question without publicly embarrassing the professor." He flipped the letter over to the counter where Harry snatched it up hungrily.

"I've never gotten a letter before." He said reverently to no one in particular.

Professor McGonagall gave Albus a pointed glare at Harry's comment, but the headmaster didn't respond.

Raven gestured to Harry to go to the backroom. "I believe that your dog could use some company. I'll call for you once you are needed, Mr. Potter."

"Kay." With that and a small smile directed at the healer, Harry scuttled out from under Raven's cloak and into the backroom, where a faint 'Hey there boy...' could be heard before the door fully closed.

"You got him a dog?" Severus hissed at the healer as soon as Harry was out of earshot. "What on earth were you thinking?"

Raven returned the hiss, leaning over the counter menacingly. "Mr. Potter found the dog half drowned; I simply allowed him to keep it after I did my duty as a veterinarian."

"You gave in to a pair of big eyes and a trembling lip. How_ far_ the mighty have fallen."

"Taking care of a pet is an excellent way to learn responsibility and empathy for other living creatures."

"It is a filthy, disease-ridden stray, Mr. Raven. Only the most soft-hearted fool would tolerate such a creature."

"Making the dog not entirely unlike _you, Professor_ Snape, if memory serves correctly."

Minerva stepped between the two squabbling men. "As entertaining as this _enlightening_ conversation is,_ gentlemen_, there is a pressing matter that must be dealt with like _adults_." She added pointedly.

The healer leaned back to a normal standing position. "And what matter of dire importance is that?" He said silkily.

Albus stepped forward for this announcement. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban and we have cause to believe that he wishes harm to young Harry."

Silence reigned a long minute.

"Is that all?" Raven finally said flippantly.

* * *

Sirius's ears picked up at the sound of the only door in the backroom creaking open, though he made no effort to turn his attention to the intruder. At least until Harry bent down to his level and began scratching him behind the ears.

"Hey there boy…" Harry cooed comfortingly. "Are you doing alright? Or is it serious?"

The dog animagus wagged his tail at the joke, huffing in the way that dogs did when they laughed.

Harry grinned, petting Sirius along his neck and shoulders. "It's easier to deal with you as a dog. You aren't nearly as scary as you are when you're a person."

Sirius whined apologetically. Harry smiled.

"I think it's because a dog is supposed to be kind of dirty and skinny where a person who is dirty and skinny is just homeless."

Sirius whined again, this time in protest.

"Maybe Raven will help me give you a bath." Harry mused as he drew back and flicked a dead tick off his hand.

The dog animagus whimpered at the dread word.

* * *

Severus ground his teeth. "What do you mean, 'is that all'? Black is a mass-murderer, a Death Eater and a mad man. Should that be cause enough for concern?"

Raven snorted. "The man is a loose-cannon, certainly, but a Death Eater, let alone the Dark Lord's right hand? I have doubts to that. A dog can hardly change its spots at its pleasure and Black was not, despite all of his failings, Death Eater material."

"And concerning myself about a solitary mad man? Black had all duplicity of a street sign when I last encountered him, and I doubt that has changed even with his incarceration. Should he come here with malicious intent, he will likely storm in shouting loud enough to raise the dead and a wizard skilled in both wandless and wordless magic should prove more than a match for a man who doesn't even have access to a loyal wand or full use of his faculties."

He twirled his own wand between his fingers with a practiced motion. "Of course, our being here was a complete secret to all until some brilliant Order that shall remained unspecified decided to come en masse with signs blazing 'There's Something Important Going On In Here' like _idiots_. It's an unending source of amazement to me that so many Fidelis Charms have failed in your group without you realizing what the problem was."

The healer looked sideways at Dumbledore. "The inability to keep a secret often costs lives, Headmaster Dumbledore, but keeping the wrong ones can cost many more. You should know that by now."

Any further scathing commentary was interrupted by Harry bursting through the backroom door, chasing a large black dog and shouting at 'Surrey' to come back and take his bath. Raven quickly put the dog in a Full-Body-Bind before it could smash any of his stock.

"Mr. Potter, I realize that I have not explained the rules of dog ownership to you, but one that should be readily evident is that you never tell the animal outright that you are giving it a bath." He levitated the dog back into the backroom from whence it came. "When my business is concluded out here, I shall assist you in cleansing the beast of his accumulated filth." He made a soft gagging noise before lowering the dog to the floor. "…Using the strongest scented shampoo I can find."

The dog's whimper was unmistakable and while Hagrid sympathized ('Aw, don' do tha' ta the poor fella, Mr. Raven. 'E can' 'elp bein' a dog.'), many of the professors silently agreed as the musty smell of a formerly wet, salt and grime encrusted dog was unmistakable in the confines of the clinic and best dealt with as soon as possible.

"…And once that deed is done with, I suppose that the remainder of said shampoo can go to use in cleansing another similarly _greasy_ dog that similarly is in dire need of a bath." With that passing shot completed, Raven turned his back to the group.

A certain potions master snarled at the mention of greasiness. "You son of a –" The final word was muffled as Severus was held back by Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey before he threw a hex or possibly even attempt to punch the healer. The curse still didn't go unnoticed.

"What's a bitch?" Harry asked Dumbledore, who suddenly found himself in another one of those awkward situations that he was beginning to distinctly dislike.

* * *

"I still can't believe that you asked him that, Harry." Sirius chuckled at the memory of Albus's extremely awkward expression. "My godson is growing up." He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

Harry hit Sirius on the shoulder with the scrubbing brush. "Siri can flatter me all he likes, but he's still getting the full bath. Behind his ears, too."

Raven grunted in agreement from the other side of the small tub that they had wrestled the animagus into. He had dispensed with his mask and gloves, with his sleeves rolled up past his biceps.

Squeezing a generous amount of the chosen shampoo (Sirius had negotiated sufficiently to receive shampoo made for humans rather than the expected canine intended variety, by agreeing to call the healer 'Raven' rather than 'Snivillus' and not to prank any of his good customers) into his bare hands, the healer lathered up the matted mess of hair that extended all the way down Sirius's back.

"I can bathe myself, you kno-" His protests were cut off as Raven shoved a sponge into his mouth.

"Take care for your front then."

Sirius grumbled as he began scrubbing.

* * *

Sirius was much happier by the time dinner was announced, mostly thanks to the fact that he had been allowed to dress himself and break every rule of fashion that he could get away with without being entirely tasteless. These positive feelings were only heightened by the fact that young Harry was not in the least bit bothered by the presence of his criminal godfather now that he had gotten a bath.

When Harry went to start cooking instead of Raven though, the dangerous look came creeping back. "You make him cook for you?"

Raven turned slightly to look at Sirius through the corner of his eye. "His aunt and uncle did, actually. Now that is his only real chore around here. Besides keeping you out of trouble."

"Vermin and Lemon-face?" The animagus howled. "What was Dumbledore thinking? They're prigs, pricks and pigs all wrapped up into one!"

The healer snorted at the not-entirely inaccurate description. "Half of why I removed him from them." He absently rubbed his left-forearm.

Sirius didn't miss the motion. "And I suppose that phoenix brand accounts for the other half."

"It's not a…" Raven began the protest that it was not a phoenix but a bloody raven but dropped it half way through. It was a bird with outstretched wings that was red. Someone like Black or Dumbledore would call that a phoenix just for the sake of argument. "Yes. It does." He said flatly.

"And it also accounts for my seeing double earlier today, doesn't it?"

"… Yes."

"Are you going to explain in any more detail than that?"

"No. The account would only serve ruin the taste of the spaghetti."

"How do you know that we're having spaghetti?"

"It's always spaghetti." A distinctly resigned note could be heard in the healer's voice.

"Siri! Are you ready for spaghetti?"

Sirius didn't know whether to laugh or cry at Harry's announcement.

* * *

Remus Lupin lay on the floor of his hut, his entire body thrumming with misery.

The transformation was as bad as it had always been, but there was no way to possibly become desensitized to it. There was no getting used to the feeling of one's skeleton growing and twisting, and of muscles tearing and restructuring into something alien three times and month and three times back into a ragged semblance of normality again once the night was done.

As his eyes refocused, the werewolf found himself looking into the bright eyes of a Great Horned Owl that was looking at him expectantly. Remus grimaced as he fished out the last bit of his jerky from his pocket and flicked it to the owl, who snapped it up eagerly. He groaned as he stretched out a paw- no, it was a hand now in the golden light of the morning sun… out to claw the letter towards him.

Remus rubbed his eye free of crust as he struggled to make out the name of whoever had sent it… _Al-b-u-s… D-u-m—ble—do-_

He sat bolt upright, fumbling with his blunt fingers to get the letter open without ripping it apart. The letter was short, barely more than a sentence long, but it was a very pertinent sentence.

**Mr. Lupin,**

**What can you tell me about a Healer by the name of 'Raven'? It concerns little Harry.**

**Albus**

"Oh, _shit_." Remus muttered in the solitude of the room.

Another, smaller owl inched forward from where it had been lurking unnoticed.

"Another letter from Albus…?" The werewolf sighed as the little owl gave him a tiny, wide-eyed nod.

This one was slightly less swear-worthy.

**Disregard the last message. The matter has been sufficiently investigated for the time being. Sorry for the inconvenience.**

**Albus**

Remus stared at the ceiling blankly for a moment, even as he scratched the tiny owl behind its tufts. The tiny owl shivered with pleasure, though the wizard didn't notice.

The larger owl briefly considered knocking the little one out of the way so he could partake in the scratching.


	12. Waffles And Inappropriate Glitter

Breakfast, thankfully, was one of the few times of day where spaghetti was not on the menu and a bit of variety was to be looked forward to. Today was waffles, and Harry had done exceptionally well on them. It was halfway through breakfast that Raven had dropped his bombshell of the day.

"I need you gone."

Sirius had nearly fallen out of his chair at Raven's blunt announcement. "What? I thought-"

"Raven!" Harry whined, mouth half full of partially masticated waffle. "You said he could stay!"

"…And by 'gone', I mean there needs to be no trace of you being here. Ever. I'm sure you can handle it, Mr. Padfoot." Never before had a piece of waffle speared on the end of a fork looked as ominous as the one that was vaguely pointed towards Sirius Black.

"I am not going back on our agreement; I am simply telling you that you need to make yourself and your stay here perfectly invisible to all senses, even those enhanced by certain… furry problems, by ten o'clock, which is when Harry's tutor arrives. I believe that you are familiar with him, Mr. Black."

Raven sipped at his coffee with a single eye cracked open to look lazily at his ward. "You wouldn't think that I would go back on my word now, Mr. Potter?" The healer smirked around the lip of his coffee mug.

Harry gave his guardian a relieved smile, even as Sirius grumbled about heart attack-inducing Slytherins.

"I almost forgot about Mr. Lupin's tutoring with Sev's letter and Siri moving in."

One of the animagus's eyebrows shot up in a rather good imitation of Severus Snape's well-practiced expression, though he said nothing, for once in his life discovering tact. He mouthed 'Sev?' at Raven in an unmistakably incredulous way, to which the healer simply replied with a shrug before returning his attention to Harry.

"Perhaps you should begin preparing for the lesson then? Collecting your materials and such?"

He smirked as Harry quickly scurried off. Wasting sixteen years in a thankless teaching position hadn't proven entirely worthless apparently. The buttons one had to push to get children into motion were the same as always.

Sirius practically exploded from holding his mouth shut for more than five minutes. "'Sev'? Who the hell is…" His grey eyes almost bugged out of his skull as he remembered back to his school days. "No." He leaned across the table, hardly noticing that he was dragging his clothes through maple syrup. "You didn't."

"I didn't. Mr. Snape did it all on his own."

Sirius grimaced. "Is this a 'time travel' thing or are you just being unhelpful? Because if this turns into a dick joke…"

Raven set down his coffee and offered up a small smirk. "Now that is thinking like a Slytherin, Mr. Black, aside from that last bit. Ten points to Gryffindor." He clasped his hands in front of him as he gave a brief recount of the incident. "Mr. Snape made a rather lackluster attempt to wheedle some information out of Mr. Potter for the Order by polyjuicing himself into a small child. Mr. Potter made friends and now 'Sev' has lost all chance of intimidating the boy ever again in the future."

The healer's face shifted to reveal a feral grin, an odd expression if one knew his history, but frightening even to those not privy to such knowledge. "I rather find it amusing myself."

Sirius leaned back into his chair, with a faint frown on his face. "You know, I'm really starting to get the sneaking suspicion that you hate yourself just a little too much to be healthy."

"You have no idea, Mr. Black."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall did a barely noticeable double take as she walked past the Hogwarts Point System. The term had just barely started, but how had Gryffindor already collected ten points? She rushed up to the teacher's lounge to examine the point ledger. After reading the notation, she stared blankly into space for a while. Professor Snape had awarded ten points to Sirius Black for thinking like a Slytherin?

The man had probably been trying to be sarcastic, but, as Professor McGonagall had explained many times to various teachers with the tendency towards sarcasm over the years, the castle had no grasp of the art and no reason not to award the points.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Ten points wasn't worth getting Severus Snape into a tizzy over, especially after his encounter with that Healer Raven. She decided to drop the matter. What difference would ten points make in the long run anyway?

* * *

Remus Lupin entered the clinic carefully, trying to get a grasp on any familiar scents. It was a bit more difficult now that the full moon wasn't so close and his curse-augmented abilities weren't at their maximum, but there were distinguishable scents… just not anything helpful. Just the smell of potions and… waffles? The werewolf's stomach growled slightly at that one.

"Hi, Mr. Lupin." Harry's voice cut through Lupin's thoughts and drew his attention back to his job.

"Oh. Hello, Harry." Remus smiled as he followed the boy into the kitchen, where the smell of waffles, while a few hours old, was still easy to detect. "I see that you have everything set up already."

Harry smiled at this. "Raven said that it's important for a student to have all his materials a-ac-" He scowled downwards towards his mouth, which was still trying to fumble around the unfamiliar word. "-Akuma-lated before the class begins."

"It's 'accumulated', but that is very good advice." The werewolf sat down at the table across from Harry. "Was Raven a teacher before he was a healer?" He asked casually.

"Idunno."

Remus hadn't really expected a good answer, but the failure to acquire more information on the mysterious Raven was still slightly disappointing. "Well, anyway I brought some primers to get you started on your penmanship…" He gave a quick look around the room, looking for something. "Where's Raven?"

"Idunno. Out?" Harry drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, deep in thought. "Oh, yeah!" His green eyes sparked as he remembered. "He's on a date!"

* * *

"This is stupid." Sirius grumbled.

Raven rolled his eyes. "This is keeping you busy for the duration of Harry's tutoring session."

"With what?"

The healer gestured vaguely at the movie posters that they were walking past. "A form of Muggle entertainment referred to as 'motion picture'."

"We can do that at ho- wait, these are the things that Lily called 'moo-vees', right?" A note of recognition could be detected in the animagus's voice.

"Yes."

"Oh, then, well, I'm all in then. What's on?"

"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves…"

Sirius's eyes lit up at the familiar name. "Ooo! That was the one that Moony convinced us to go to back in '75."

"Jaws: The Revenge…"

"A sequel to that shark film?"

"The fourth, to be precise. It is poorly executed, even for the animal-spawn of Satan genre."

"Aw. Anything else?"

"RoboCop."

"Sounds… interesting."

"It's rather sad, actually, for an action movie."

"You… saw an action flick?"

"I find them somewhat… therapeutic, upon occasion. It was also considered a classic by the time that I saw it."

Sirius winced. "Again, unhealthy. Any other options?"

"Revenge of the Nerds: Nerds In Paradise and Summer School." Raven smirked as he finished off listing the names and watching Sirius's face pinch up at the idea of school-based entertainment. A pity about misleading movie names, really. If Black had any idea what the two movies were really about… "RoboCop it is, then."

* * *

"That was emotionally damaging. But cool at the same time." Sirius mused aloud as they walked down the busy street. "I didn't realize that so much satisfaction could come from hearing the words 'you're fired'." He took a moment to look unsettled as an idea crossed his mind. "Remind me never to fire Kreacher without having some intensive safety nets in place."

"Your concern is duly noted." Raven muttered, not entirely displeased with the animagus's revelation. Removing the prospect of Kreacher being able to betray Harry, directly or indirectly, was… acceptable. Admittedly, it could prove cumbersome to the goal of total war that Morrigan was expecting from her 'loyal servant', but whenever had Raven qualified as a loyal servant to anyone? He smirked at the thought.

"You're planning something nasty, aren't you?" Sirius asked suspiciously.

"Nothing of the sort." Raven lied silkily.

"Why don't I believe you?"

* * *

Severus Snape was many things. Childishly petty, venomously acerbic, dangerously hot-tempered, cuttingly intelligent… but one thing he was not was forgiving. The potions master held grudges for years over things that many people would have forgotten after a week and would pursue his revenge with an almost obsessive intensity.

There were seven people who Severus Snape held significant grudges against.

The first four had made his school days a living hell, though he had done his best to repay them in kind, and the leader of the gang had even gone so far as to steal the love of his life from Severus's grasp.

The fifth was the man who took that love away in a more permanent sense. The Dark Lord had extinguished her life as easily as one would a candle and had no regret in doing so, even though he had promised her to Severus not even a day before.

The six was a rather mild grudge compared to the others, but it was significant never the less. Albus Dumbledore had earned Snape's enmity by manipulation and an Unbreakable Vow, sealing it by demeaning the man to working in the very building where he had suffered seven years of inter-house abuse.

But the seventh was something else entirely. Oh, the seventh was a special case, though Severus hadn't quite realized it yet. Healer Raven, who was easily a man that Severus could become should fate play out as it had in a different timeline, was a special case. A man who knew exactly where the potion master's weak spots were and had unhesitatingly obliterated any sense of control that Severus had in his side of the conversation, a man who hated Severus and treated him like a joke at the same time, a man who was almost a mirror of the potion master but the opposite in too many ways to mention.

This was the kind of man that Severus Snape could hate with every fiber of his being. It was easier than hating the man who looked back at him from the other side of the mirror.

But there was one person that Severus was finding it difficult to hate at the moment and it was as great a vexation unto the man as the occasional Hufflepuff that managed to pull themselves through his class with an O.

Harry Potter.

Normally, Severus would have simply put Harry under the same umbrella of loathing that his sire had helped raise so many years ago. However, there was a certain difficulty to that and that difficulty had a name:

Lily Evans.

Harry had inherited more than just her eyes, as Severus had found out in the Leaky Cauldron about a week ago. Her curiosity and gentle nature were just as prominent in her son and the potions master, sworn to hate all Potters, was having difficulty finding a place for the anomalous child in his well-organized mind. It would be so easy to despise the boy… but the memory of his mother would never allow Severus to rest easily if he did so.

Snape's convoluted train of thought came to a halt as a first-year melted their first cauldron, the first of many if the twitch of annoyance behind the potion professor's eye proved correct.

He truly hated his life at times.

The melted cauldron decided at this point to give off a burst of glittering smoke before eating through the unlucky first-year's notes. The smoke settled and left glitter stuck in Severus's oily hair, where it managed to sparkle cheerfully in the diffuse and dim lighting of his classroom, much to the potion master's chagrin and to the barely hidden mirth of his students.

Correction.

He hated every waking moment of his life, no exceptions.

* * *

**WHERE ARE YOU ALL COMING FROM?**

**So many people following this story… I hope I don't disappoint any of you!**

**I didn't just select random movies from 1987, so if you really want to go and do some in-depth research (Wikipedia would be the best resource, as always {1987 in Film}), you can figure out about when they went to the theater and have an idea of where the story is, chronologically speaking.**

**I'm thinking about doing a time-skip forward to when Harry makes his Hogwarts debut, but I'll defer to the readers preference on this, as this story is largely written for your enjoyment.**

**Also, if there is anything anyone would like to see, I am open to suggestions.**

**A FEW RULES THOUGH.**

**1. I'm not putting any pairings, specifically sexual ones, in the story, though I could work in jokes about them and certain fanfiction banes if said joke was suggested.**

**2. While Dumbledore is still a bit of a manipulator, I won't characterize him as being ridiculously so or evil. I'm really bad at writing evil, so I'm going to focus my energies into evil-ifying the primary villain, who shall not be named here, but you know who it is anyway, so it goes without saying.**

**3. IF I FUCK UP, GRAMMAR, SPELLING, CONTENT, ETC., WHATEVER, PLEASE POINT IT OUT. I'll move to fix it as soon as possible, I promise.**

**Thank.**


	13. To Hogwarts!

**1991**

Kings Cross seemed particularly busy on the day that Harry was to board the Hogwarts Express, no thanks to the sudden influx of families arriving with the intent to see their children off to the legendary school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was through this comingled crowd that Healer Raven and his ward pulled themselves, squeezing Harry's loaded cart through whichever gaps they could find.

"I'd forgotten what an utterly miserable experience this was…" Raven muttered, even as Harry, who now came up to about the middle of the healer's chest, drank in the sight of all of these people his age. It wasn't as if children were a common sight around Knockturn Alley… or even Diagon Alley at most times of the years. Several admonishments and some fumbling with Harry's luggage later, they stood quietly facing each other, even as the crowd shifted around them.

After a long moment, Harry threw himself at his guardian, hugging the dark robed man tightly around the waist. "Don't forget me while I'm gone, okay?" He murmured into the heavy fabric.

Raven returned the hug gently. "However could I?" He whispered back. The healer straightened as the engine's whistle howled. "You'd best be boarding now, Mr. Potter. Try not to get into any… unfortunate altercations on the ride, will you?" There was the slightest indication of a smile in his voice.

Harry blinked away the burgeoning seed of a tear before smiling at his shadowy guardian. "Of course not, Raven." He flashed was he hoped was a reassuring grin.

* * *

Harry smiled from his compartment as he watched Raven loom grouchily at the edge of the crowd. The fact that the temperamental healer was willing to linger so long in one of his least favorite situations, crowds, just for Harry was comforting, as Harry had only expected him to linger long enough to assist with his luggage and to say goodbye.

He closed his eyes for a moment before turning his attention towards his new familiar, dryly dubbed Asphodel by Raven, who was apparently contemplating his campaign of harassment against Severus Snape aloud yet again, and confirmed by Harry, who thought that it was a sufficiently magical name for such a beautiful creature of the night. The barn owl dozed lazily in her cage, awake enough to dimly react to the sounds of rambunctious children rushing excitedly through the motionless train but otherwise dead to the world.

The sound of the door to his apartment being opened brought Harry's focus to the pair of redheads that grinned maniacally through the gap.

"Why, Gred, it looks like someone's already taken our usual compartment." The left-hand twin chirped in honeyed tones.

"It certainly does, Forge." The other replied in an equally sweet voice. "An ickle firstie by the looks of it, to quote the ever irascible Peeves."

Harry blinked. "There's still plenty of room in here to sit. It's just me and my owl."

The twins smiled condescendingly.

"I've also got some pocket money to get sweets. Between Raven and Padfoot…"

The condescending smiles vanished and were replaced by gob-smacked expressions at the second name.

"_The_ Padfoot of Mrrs. Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs _legend_?"

"Er… Yes?" Harry smiled through his confused expression. Sirius hadn't mentioned any legends concerning him or any of his school friends... Just a whole bunch of admittedly interesting pranks…

"This bears investigation, Forge."

"Most definitely, Gred."

The twins squeezed into the compartment, sliding the door shut behind them. Harry scooted over to offer the pair the majority of the available seating.

Raven shivered as he noted the matched set of redheads in Harry's compartment. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes were still several years in the future, but one could never step lightly enough around a Weasley twin.

* * *

"I can't believe I missed it!" Sirius began griping as soon as Raven returned to the clinic. "Seeing Harry off to Hogwarts was supposed to be a family thi-"

Raven cut him off. "We are not a family, Mr. Black, as I am a man quite out of his time and you are a wanted criminal with a rather… distinctive Animagus form. As if I would allow such a risk with young Mr. Potter in attendance."

The dog Animagus snorted at that. "You'd cut off your right arm at the shoulder if it meant Harry was safe for a day. That's a far sight better than my family." He began counting off his fingers, listing every parental trait that the shrouded time traveler had ever displayed. "Over-protective, education-fixated, supportive in every way that counts… Hell, Raven, I haven't even heard you raise your voice to Harry once in the four years I've lived with the two of you. If that isn't downright motherly of you, I don't know what is."

"If you are implying that caring for the boy's welfare is a quality worthy of belittlement…"

Sirius waved for the healer to calm down hurriedly before any hexes were thrown. "I didn't say a word on that subject. You're getting your feathers ruffled over nothing."

Raven silently took a sip of his coffee, staring into the dark depths of his cup for a long minute. He cleared his throat. "It seems that Harry has made the acquaintance of Hogwarts' current prankster union…"

The healer tried not to look overly disturbed by the squeal of joy that escaped the dog animagus's throat, but such a thing was far beyond the talents of even his Occulomency. He prepared himself for the barrage of questions concerning the eternally puckish Weasley twins.

* * *

Harry tried not to bounce too much as the rest of the first-years jittered nervously in wait for their grand Hogwarts debut. He could understand their nervousness in the face of their impending sorting, but the sensation was completely alien to him after everything Raven and Sirius had shown him since his guardian had removed him from the Dursleys. The idea of the whole school watching him was a little disconcerting, but Raven was scarier when he had the mind to be, so in light of past experiences, Harry Potter decided that dealing with a few hundred pairs of eyes wouldn't be so big of a deal. If only he had his hat, he could walk out there by his lonesome, straight-backed and unflinching…

His bouncing subsided in time for the doors to open and for their motley group to spill out into the view of everyone who matters for the next seven years. The formerly alien sensation became sickeningly real as the names began being called. And then it was his turn. Harry almost sprinted up to the stool, feeling only a minute level of relief return as the Sorting Hat slipped over his face.

'So we finally meet, Mr. Potter.' A greasy voice grumbled in the darkness. 'Excuse me if I sound a bit sick of you, but I am rather bored of Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived.'

"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "I can't see how you can be sick of me if we've never met…"

'Every single other rugrat that I've been sat on this evening has been positively abuzz with curiosity about you. 'Potter's in our year, I'm going to go to school with The-Boy-Who-Lived!'' The voice sighed, dropping the squeaky falsetto as if it were a leaden bar. 'The girls were the worst of the lot. I had dared to hope that the Bones girl would have half the sense of her aunt, but disappointment is eternal in this position it seems.'

"I'm… sorry? Raven did say people would take leave of their senses as soon as I introduced myself…"

The voice seemed almost to perk up at that. 'Raven? Got a surname to go with that, or is it a claimed name?'

"Er…"

'Claimed. Obviously. Painfully so, I'm afraid to say.' The voice snorted, and sensation of someone rifling through a filing cabinet resounded in the darkness. 'Not that one, most definitely not that monochromatic trollop… Ah, that one. Interesting…'

Harry squirmed slightly. "Um, sir…"

'Hm? Oh, yes. Old curiosity aside, it's _your _sorting that needs to be attended to for the moment.' The illusory filing cabinet clanged shut. The voice hemmed and hawed for a bit. 'Not a bad mind, quite a thirst in there to prove yourself… A witty tongue… If you used it more often, it could serve you quite well… Loyal to a fault if given the slightest scrap affection, that's Hufflepuff material if I've ever seen it… A fair bit of courage in there as well…'

Harry sucked in his lower lip, consumed with worry. What if he couldn't be sorted? Oh, wouldn't Raven be disappointed...

The voice chuckled darkly. 'Aren't you a tricky one? Don't worry about it. I've sorted more difficult. Any personal preferences might prove helpful all the same, Mr. Potter.'

"Padfoot thought it'd give Professor Snape quite the turn to have me in Slytherin…" He offered hopefully.

'You could be great in Gryffindor… But the same could be said of you being in Slytherin, indeed. There are many kinds of greatness after all, so try to do your best in…' "SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

Severus Snape briefly considered falling off of his chair as the Sorting Hat announced the house of the Boy-Who-Existed-To-Confound-Him, but decided that stiffening his back was an acceptable alternative. He had kept up his correspondence with Mr. Potter, certainly, but to have to take an active involvement in the brat's day-to-day life? The potion's master shuddered internally. God knew what terrible habits the boy had picked up from that wretched Healer.

The fact that Quirrell insisted on jostling him every thirty seconds while mangling his name wasn't doing much to improve to Severus' quickly darkening mood, even as the potion's master scanned the length of the Slytherin table for any disturbances. Potter was keeping to himself, smiling shyly at some comment by one of his peers. Draco Malfoy was frowning at the scarred boy as if Potter had managed some great personal insult in the five minutes that they had been seated at the same table. Taking into consideration who the boy had spent the last four years with, it wasn't a terribly unlikely prospect.

"S-S-S-Sev-v-v-verus. S-Sev-v-verus. S-Sever-er-us. S-S-Se-"

Snape glared at the insipid man. "You need not ask for my permission to make use of the water-closet, Quirinus. I am quite sure that you are capable of locating it on your own." He snarled as the Defense teacher paled under his grim visage. How his application had been passed up for this simpering fool's was an affront to Severus's pride… Not that there weren't a multitude of those.

"Th-tha-that was un-unnecessary, S-Se-Se-Severus. I-I-I m-m-merely w-wished t-to ask you w-what you thought of young M-Mis-Mister P-P-P-" Severus would have willingly taken an Avada if it meant that he could escape Quirinus Quirrell and his thrice-damned stutter.

"Mister Potter has yet to make any impression on me, Quirinus." He spat the offending name out like a piece of flavorless grizzle._ Quite unlike you, you stuttering shamble_, Severus added silently, even as he sipped at his wine, surreptitiously sliding his gaze from Quirinus back to the Slytherin table. A pair of vibrant green eyes locked with his dark ones before Harry Potter offered up a shy smile. The smile was cut short by a flash of pain crossing his features.

Severus quickly turned his gaze to Draco, who was currently kissing up to a nearby prefect. So much for his theory of the Malfoy scion stabbing The-Boy-Who-Lived with a fork in a childish gesture of ill-will. Harry was now rubbing his forehead, the Potion's master noted, massaging his scar as he stared, bewildered, at Severus, of all people.

Severus made a note to schedule a private meeting with the boy later. If not to establish what had just occurred, then to at least make it clear that there were certain expectations to be met. None of which would be that healer's concern.

* * *

Sirius Black paced. He had been pacing for some time now, alternating between his human and dog forms as he wore a groove into the floor. The sorting had to be over by now, he thought as he gave a quick glance to a nearby timepiece. Was Harry doing alright? Which house was he in? Had he made any friends?

Raven sat in a chair, appearing for all purposes to be engrossed in a potion's journal. But, as it is with most members of Slytherin house and, in truth, most of the Wizarding world, appearances can be very deceiving. The healer was only giving the journal the most cursory of glances, instead focusing the majority of his attention on the absence of noise that normally characterized the outside alley.

The silence was not absolute, which was both good and bad in many respects. Absolute silence implied unnatural things, the likes of dementors or creatures foreign to the sphere. This silence was actually quite loud, with many layers of whispered conversations building into a white noise that was not dissimilar to the sound produced by a disturbed nest of adders, and it was quite beyond the abilities of the healer to pick out any specific conversations, despite his many years spent in service as a spy.

"-yffindor." Sirius's mumbling finally caught Raven's ear, prompting the healer to raise his head to better study the dog Animagus.

"Mmm?" He offered noncommittally as the potion's journal was folded up and tucked away.

"I was saying that Harry's probably in Gryffindor."

Raven smothered a snort. "Really?" He said, trying to keep his tone level and free of any unbecoming giggling. To his eye and according to his efforts to encourage Harry's natural wit to flourish, Gryffindor would hardly be suitable to the boy's abilities now.

"James and Lily were…" Sirius began, wholly prepared to wax poetic on the many wonderfully Gryffindor traits of his best friend and his sainted wife.

"And Harry is neither of them, nor the sum of their parts." The healer rolled his eyes as he flipped open a Muggle medical journal. "You yourself have proven that point, being the first Gryffindor Black since time immemorial. I would place Mr. Potter as being among the avians or the vipers."

Sirius growled under his breath. "If he's in Slytherin, he'd best be giving Snivilly the time of his life…"

Raven allowed his smirk to perk up the corners of his mouth, not even bothering to correct the slight that was technically directed at him. "Of that unavoidable eventuality, Mr. Black, I have neither illusions nor doubts."

* * *

**Sorry about taking so long! Timeskips are always a trick to swing properly...**


	14. Letters Home, Bad Ideas And B-Movies

Harry Potter was a curious boy by nature. It was this curiosity that had found his godfather, stirred up his interest in potions and kindled his odd relationship with Severus Snape, misanthrope supreme. So when a sharp pain shot through his head most mysteriously during the start of term feast, Harry took a bit more time to wonder about it than a Harry who had grown up solely under the tender mercies of the Dursley family would have. He turned to a nearby student, a truly massive example of teenager with a Cro-Magnon visage to match his imposing frame.

"Who is that sitting next to Professor Snape?" Harry asked.

The boy pulled his upper lip up to expose his misshapen overbite, possibly in a misguided attempt to flash a charming smile. "Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, obviously. Not sure who 'e is though. They never last more than a year anyway."

Another voice cut in, this one high and faintly mocking. "Professor Quirinus Quirrell. Used to teach Muggle Studies, and I expect him to be just as good as teaching Defense as he was that. Heard he went on an adventure last year and it rather… disagreed with him."

A third voice cut in, this one being offered up by a third-year who encapsulated the terrifying humor of the Spotted Hyena. "First years better hearken. The DA position is the security officer of the staff. He's a Redshirt. Cannon fodder. Monster munch. The world's expert on getting killed. Call it what you wanna, that one ain't** ever **gonna make it longer than a year."

Harry winced. "Isn't that kind of fatalistic-"

The hyena boy repeated himself with a dead-serious expression. "**Ever.**" He said slowly, slowly enunciating each syllable with all the gravity of a judge levying a guilty verdict in a murder trial.

"Mr. Dillane is right, much as I loathe admitting the fact." A dangerously deep and silky voice intoned from behind Harry. He twisted his head around to behold a silver-streaked ghost whose severe visage imparted nothing but a sensation of determined weariness.

The trollish lad unveiled yet another of his sickly grins. "Allow me to introduce the Bloody Baron, house ghost of Slytherin and bane of all poltergeists, particularly those with a preference for pranking."

The Baron dipped his head gracefully. "Mr. Flint." He murmured, a transparent hand descending almost upon reflex to the hilt of his sword as he floated through Harry's elbow and took his semi-corporeal seat there. Harry did not protest the chill, as it served as a buffer to keep certain platinum-haired parties and their associates from drawing any closer than necessary.

"So what brings the Golden Boy to Slytherin?" The high-voiced girl asked, her desire for fresh gossip apparently greater than any sense of propriety. "One would take the son of Potters to be in Gryffindor. Or perhaps even in _Hufflepuff_." The last house was mentioned with a sneer as if it was the punch-line to a classic joke.

Harry shrugged noncommittally, even as he shifted around to get a better look at the three… now two students that still remained to be sorted. "Raven wanted me to be in Slytherin and I wanted to make Raven happy." He mumbled.

A few of his fellow Slytherins nodded at this. "Not uncommon." Someone mumbled. "Explains at least half the Quidditch team." Someone else added, though carefully enough not to attract any angry looks. "Don't dishonor the house and we won't dishonor you, your family, or your cow, should you be in the possession of one." Someone else added in an eerily chipper tone.

Harry took the opportunity to gulp nervously as most of Slytherin table turned to greet Blaise Zabini. Any protections that Raven might have been able to extend under other circumstances seemed of little reassurance in this proverbial nest of vipers.

* * *

The next day was… interesting, to say the least. Harry survived his first night in the Slytherin Dorm, mostly by using Theodore Nott and Blaise Zambini as a pseudo-buffer between himself and Malfoy's group when it came to selecting his bunk. The first letter home was drafted and then finalized, though it wouldn't be sent until the following day. Schedules were collected and the assorted throng of Slytherin first years made their way to their first class.

The idyllic peace, naturally, did not last long after that. This was, after all, a school where children and teenagers, ever the bastion of bad decision-making and rash actions, got to learn how to be even more dangerous than usual. Add in the fact that half of Harry's classmates at any given time were Slytherins, and therefor twice as devious and three times as dangerous as any other students apart from the Twins Weasley, and it seemed quite the feat of magic that there was still a Hogwarts left to attend.

However, it was clear that there were some members of the house who apparently had forgotten that Slytherin was a house known not only for its inclination to the darker side of things, but also for its cunning and masterful manner.

Draco Malfoy certainly managed the role of two-bit villain with as much aplomb as an eleven year old can manage on short notice, but he, even by Harry's standards, was predictable to a fault and obvious in his tactics, no mention of his choice of manner need be mentioned.

His cronies managed, by some fallacy of the universe, to exemplify everything a Slytherin shouldn't be while still being lamentably obvious members of that house.

By the end of the week, there were several grumbled complaints about the trio's behavior among their upperclassmen and the seeds of plans to housebreak them before they lost any more points to their moronic misdeeds against muggleborns.

These tendencies only seemed to increase whenever Gryffindor students were involved, and it wasn't just Malfoy's gang that was affected. It seemed that just about every single Slytherin, even the relatively reasonable members who were not typically given to such antics, was under a compulsion to swish their robes and twirl their mustaches in the age-old way of ne'er-do-wells whenever there were any red and gold spangled students within their range of vision.

Harry realized that this trait, regardless of the potentially limitless entertainment value, was probably a major part of why just about everyone hated anything or anyone that fell under the verdant banner of the Slytherin house.

Friday was Double Potions with Gryffindor and Harry anticipated the occurrence of some great disaster based on that one fact. It was with the least rambunctious looking of the lions, a round faced boy with a distinctly skittish look by the name of Neville Longbottom, that Harry partnered.

* * *

Sirius's pacing had finally ceased with the arrival of Harry's first letters, the Animagus now settling for laying on the tiled floor of the kitchen, much to the relief of Raven, who had looked over the letter with veiled amusement and no small amount of consternation. Quirrell was poking around Harry's head already, Draco Malfoy had already made himself an enemy and Harry was both interested in and terrified of his fellow Slytherins. He rolled his eyes behind his mask. That last tidbit, at least, was par for the course in the house of serpents, he thought with a smirk.

Sirius rolled over to properly stare at the healer, who sighed as he realized what his unspoken question was.

"There are no decent movies currently in theater, Mr. Black." Raven said, even as he carefully picked up his newspaper and flipped it up to hide his face.

"Isn't that Robin Hood movie still on? I liked that one."

"Obviously not."

"Rent a movie then!" Sirius whined.

The newspaper remained upright. "No."

"Why not?"

"We do not own a tape player. Or a television."

"Get some then!"

"My business is not that lucrative, Mr. Black."

"Use some of Harry's-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll hex your bollocks off."

"I'm bored though!"

"Read a book."

"Books are boring."

"Write one that isn't then."

"Why?"

"Publish anonymously. Make money. Buy television. Rot brain on own dime."

"Ha. Ha. You're such a comedian, Raven."

"I write this drivel just for you, Mr. Black."

A moment passed in silence as Raven read the obituaries and Sirius studied the ceiling.

"What _could_ I write a book about?" Sirius asked with a note of genuine concern.

Raven tried not to think about the implications of that last question as he returned to his reading. Hopefully society as it was known would still be extant after a book penned by such a writer went into print. Raven wouldn't hedge any bets on that anyway.

* * *

Ron Weasley was faintly irritated with everything. The cauldron in front of him was one of two focuses at the moment, the other being Draco Malfoy. The latter was exacerbating the former by throwing porcupine needles over the redheaded Gryffindor's shoulder into the boiling stew, though the blonde didn't seem to mind the few that caught in his enemy's hair and robes. The bushy haired girl nattering in his ear was also annoying, but she was also doing most of the brewing and doing it much better than Ron probably would have, so he decided to keep his mouth shut for once in his life.

Not that he often had it open in Potion's class anyway. Snape was devilishly fast to catch anyone who stepped a millimeter out of line, having swooped down on Ron at least three times so far for 'playing around with dangerous materials', courtesy of Malfoy once more.

Occasionally, a small, pale hand would reach over to him and Hermoine to put a stabilizing ingredient in their heavily beleaguered potion whenever it began making unhappy noises. The odd Slytherin with the green eyes was confusing, Ron thought as he plucked yet another spine from the hood of his robes, torn between his natural distrust of anything in green and silver and his relieved thankfulness that someone had kept the burbling mess from attaining semi-sentience and eating someone. Maybe he could get it, the potential blob monster, not the mystery snake, to go after Malfoy and his seemingly bottomless supply of porcupine needles...

* * *

Molly Weasley was still regretting letting Arthur take the boys to a drive-in theater just in time for their B-movie marathon, even as she managed to spell the ghoul out of the fish themed rubber suit that the twins had seen fit to cram it into before leaving. This occurrence had only come to light when Ginny had gone up to the attic and scrambled back down the ladder screaming. Heads would roll if any of her boys ever tried to sneak out to a double feature ever again.

* * *

Arthur Weasley decided that hiding in the chicken coop was the best option right now. Not only was Molly in a thunderous mood, but apparently the joke, inspired by a certain creature hailing from a particular black lagoon, that was intended to be sprung on Ron, who had instead shirked all of the chores that would have brought him within striking range, had gone off on the wrong Weasley, and if it came out that it was him rather than the twins… He shook his head quickly. It didn't bear thinking about. Now where was that stash of emergency chocolate…?

* * *

Fred and George Weasley scampered away from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom at a speed reserved for habitual pranksters and cookie snatching children. Hopefully their candy red blob monster would have the time to grow big enough to catch a few first years in its delightfully sticky grasp. Perhaps someone might even make their way to the gooey, strawberry flavored center, as they had oxygenated the goo in anticipation of such an event. At the moment, they had an alibi to set up in History of Magic. One never knew when Binns would remember to take roll after all…

* * *

Percy Weasley was careful to look both ways as he made his way down to Hagrid's hut. The groundskeeper had informed the prefect of a recent acquirement that might interest him, but it was a little on the dodgy side so far as familiars went, which Percy took to mean as 'slightly illegal' or 'highly flammable'.

Under normal circumstances, he would have gone straight to Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore, but some of the unsubtle hints that Hagrid had dropped with all the delicacy of a thrown brick hinted at something that the Gryffindor prefect found quite interesting indeed…

So it was with breathless anticipation that Percival Ignatius Weasley beheld his first ever fire turtle, blue eyes sparkling with dark fire behind his horn rimmed glasses. "Gamera…" He murmured almost worshipfully even as Hagrid took a step backwards.

"Yeh okay there, Percy? Yeh got an odd look in yer eye…"

* * *

Ginny Weasley was plotting her revenge even as her mother began flitting around in an attempt to distract her from the Creature that had surprised her earlier. She didn't have any magic on her side to use against her brothers, so that discontinued most of her better plans, but one perfectly mundane solution was niggling at the back of her skull. She just needed the help of one spectacularly mad friend of hers…

"Mum, is it okay if Luna comes over?" She asked as innocently as possible.

* * *

**Wrote the bit about Ron hoping his potion doesn't try to eat anyone and then the whole Weasley family (sans Charlie and Bill, because I'm not sure how to write them and Molly, because at least one person needs to be responsible) became B-movie aficionados with their own preferred genre.**

**Ron likes just about anything with Vincent Price or Bela Lugosi, the twins and Arthur like creature features and monster flicks, Percy prefers Kaiju movies (Charlie probably would as well, given his interest in dragons) and Ginny likes supernatural horror films (Black Sunday is her favorite and The Mummy is her second favorite).**


	15. Flying Lessons

For all the fearsome rumors that surrounded the Slytherin name, the house itself had its fair share of personable students. Many were incredibly bouncy for supposed dark witches and wizards, but that same chipper attitude could be unsettling in its own way, Harry having made a point to avoid making enemies with anyone who was able to talk about breaking all of the bones in someone's hands in a tone that implied sunshine, candy and rainbow trails were the end result.

Professor Snape had proven almost disappointingly cool in his interactions with Harry as compared to his written persona, the man seeming much more reserved in person, almost as if revealing too much of his true personality would make him all too approachable to the world. Harry personally thought that this was a very special kind of stupid reserved for otherwise intelligent people, as the only discernible difference was that Snape managed to be even more sarcastic and biting on paper and that most people wouldn't appreciate any of it on a daily basis.

The Defense professor was also something of a letdown, but there was something about Professor Quirrell just struck Harry with the most complete sensation of wrongness, and it wasn't just the pervasive stench of garlic that surrounded the Defense instructor either. The odd responses to questions, the evasive answers, the dead-eyed expressions whenever Quirrell thought nobody was watching all added up to a very suspicious person that needed to be watched. Harry only wished that it wasn't him who had to do the watching, what with the splitting headaches that plagued him whenever he was in the man's presence.

Everything about the man screamed wrongness at Harry, but there just wasn't any proof to back it up. For all the young Slytherin knew, the man really had gone afoul of a vampire and had been seriously affected by the experience. One could not make a diagnosis without all of the information; Raven had told him many times when customers would come seeking cures to what they thought was ailing them only to find that their malady was far worse than initially supposed.

Closer to Harry's social circles, though probably for the wrong reasons, were the Weasley boys. The twins had started the trend, poking around the library whenever Harry was doing his homework, catching him on the weekends, regardless of where he had holed up to avoid Malfoy. Fred and George were keen on finding out more about Padfoot, and though Harry had been careful not to give away anything that could actually name his criminal godfather, he wasn't entire certain that the twins didn't sense his attempts at deflection.

Thankfully, if they did notice such tactics, the twins did not show disapproval through their normal channels, which Harry had been made aware of, along with the rest of his house, by a distinctly green-tinted Draco Malfoy, who had stalked into the common room dripping and fuming about blood traitors and slime traps. Professor Snape had, naturally, taken points from Gryffindor, but it was widely agreed that Draco Malfoy and his incessant and, more importantly, sadly predictable mouth deserved most of what he got from the Weasley pranksters.

It wasn't long after the twins took an interest in the Boy-Who-Lived that both Percy, who was rightly concerned about anything that had Fred and George scurrying off to parts unknown at stranger times than usual, and Ron, who was slightly put out that his brothers hadn't congratulated him more for the miniature blob monster that he had both made on his own and then stuffed into his sworn enemy's book bag, followed.

Harry liked the Weasleys well enough, but in small, digestible doses. It was quite impossible to think of the small, quiet, and, most importantly, low-key boy surviving more than a half-hour with the full family, let alone Molly Weasley, who was considered by anyone who knew her to be a veritable hurricane of warmth, comfort, hugs and kisses.

Harry was sure of this fact because he was only surrounded by four Weasleys at the moment and only a few seconds away from shoving his way out of the crimson huddle. "What's going on now?" He sighed as he shut his book.

"We have need of assistance in causing a little mayhem…"The twins began to chorus.

Percy scowled at this, his expression speaking volumes of 'No.'.

"… Teensy-weensy, perfectly safe, controlled mayhem, then." Fred amended with a roll of his eyes.

The scowl descended further with an unspoken, but deeply empathetic 'Hell no'.

George shot a fake glare at his older brother. "Way to be the prince of party poopers, Perce."

Ron followed the twins lead, though it didn't look like he was exactly faking his sour expression. "Ruiner." He hissed.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Can we get through this conversation without any undue fratricide?"

"Probably not." Fred conceded as Ron tried to tackle Percy to the ground, even as the latter sidestepped his younger brother.

The boy who lived fought the impulse to repeatedly slam his head against the stonework.

* * *

Sirius Black was researching.

While he had dedicated little of his time to his studies in school, shoving them aside in pursuit of female tail and adolescent revenge, the dog animagus was finding that homework was actually fun provided that the subject was something he liked.

And the subject in question was mischief.

So it was in pursuit of this noblest of all fields that he disillusioned himself, in preparation to breech the depths of the starchiest of all institutions; the public library. The muggle one, of course.

He wasn't completely stupid after all.

Photographic evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.

* * *

"First year flying lessons are with Gryffindor?!" One of the upperclassmen exclaimed as he looked over Harry's shoulder to read the first year's schedule. "Honestly, it's like Dumbledore's trying to start an interhouse war!"

Harry sighed as he adjusted his book bag. Now he had yet another class with both Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy. Joy.

He didn't really hate the red haired first year. It was just the fatal combination of bullheadedness, a lack of tact and the observational range of a spoon, which, if one has ever looked deep into the silvery depths of their cutlery, offers up a distorted view of the self and little much else besides that, that drove Harry away. Add to that the fact that wherever Weasley went, Malfoy and his bottomless bag of uninspired one-liners were soon to follow, and Harry Potter was soon in the running for the new nickname of 'The Boy-Who-Made-Himself-Scarce'.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" Everyone shouted.

Harry's broom slapped into his hand at once, stinging his palm and making him drop it again on reflex. Thankfully, most of the other students were similarly distracted and unable to make any comments as he settled for using the muggle method of broom summoning; kneeling down and picking it up. More than a few of his peers did the same, including Ron Weasley, who had gotten a face full of broom shaft not two minutes before, and Neville Longbottom, who looked as if he would rather not be more than a foot away from the ground at any given time.

"Now when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground- I swear to Merlin, Mr. Longbottom, if you even think about straddling that broom before I give the signal, you will be polishing trophies for the rest of the year, don't you dare think I don't remember Alice's first class- And rise a few… A few feet, Mr. Malfoy! Don't give me that look, young man, I saw you looking at that tree!" Madam Hooch's face screwed up in the expression of ultimate frustration as a few children turned away from her to chatter with their friends. "And then come straight down! No backflips, no flourishes, no playing chicken with your little friends, just go up and come back down."

A few groans could be heard from those who had become well acquainted with brooms long before arriving at Hogwarts. They had been looking forward to showing off their prowess to their respective housemates but that was a pipe dream now that their instructor had specifically forbidden it. Not that such a common thing would stop some here-to unnamed royal idiots.

The class had actually managed to pass with little in the way of chaos, aside from Draco Malfoy attempting to surreptitiously kick Neville off his broom, which not only failed, but backfired so spectacularly that the arm of the Malfoy scion was broken in at least two places. Harry tried to stifle his feelings of schadenfreude as the blonde was levitated to Madam Pomphrey's domain in a body bind, firstly because of the nature of the breaks and the fact that the boy had been thrashing around in a way that could have easily made the injury worse. Also the shrill screaming was highly unpleasant, though Madam Hooch would not readily admit it to anyone other than a fellow faculty member.

* * *

Raven slammed his head against a wall. Why did he give Black the idea to write a book, that was a horrible idea, what had he actually expected the hound to pick for subject material… The mental mantra intensified as a butter-yellow rubber chicken was magically glued to the unfortunate section of wall, leading a steady squealing to fill the house as the healer slowly lost his mind.

Sirius snickered from his position in the hallway. Muggle humor, as ridiculous as it often was, was still way too fun not to use at every possible opportunity. He kissed the snake-in-a-can that was still clenched in his fist. Whoever had dreamed up such things without magic was a god among Muggles indeed.


End file.
